


One and the Same

by Zimmmbardoz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Bodyswap, Deathly Hallows AU, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Gender Issues, Horcrux Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimmmbardoz/pseuds/Zimmmbardoz
Summary: Draco Malfoy never thought failing to kill Albus Dumbledore would lead him to this point in life; being dragged around Britain by the Golden Trio in a hunt for pieces of Voldemort’s soul while also having to deal with womanhood, prejudice, and misogyny.





	1. We're all Prisoners here

Draco Malfoy was sitting alone and afraid in the darkness of his rooms, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he listened to muted screams from the Malfoy Manor’s dungeon. Bile would rise in his throat every now and then when he heard the echoes of his aunt’s manical laughter accompany a hoarse plea for death.

For the last few weeks he had been confined to his bedroom with only house elves for company. The oak doors that’d bring him into the hallway of the West Wing were sealed tight with multiple warding charms, and the windows were spelled shut as if they had been melded together with their main frame. Draco knew this because he had kicked, hit, and cursed the wards for hours on end, desperate to be free and see if his mother was alright. His father had dropped by once many days ago with a warning, his voice carefully neutral as he told Draco to stay vigilant and wary in the days to come because the Dark Lord was disappointed in Draco and that in itself was reason to worry. Lucius’ eyes were blank as he spoke, completely stripped of emotions as if he didn’t want Draco to see that his father was scared for the wellbeing of his son. It only worried Draco further, afraid of what punishment would be inflicted upon him and he only begged that it was short and painless.

After his father’s visit the days dragged on more than before for Draco, who was honestly surprised his confinement could be even more torturous as time seemed to slow as his fear increased. He lost track of time then, but Draco was pretty certain it was only just a couple of months since Snape had furiously hurried him along Hogwarts grounds as they escaped that disastrous night at the Astronomy Tower in a flurry of robes and flying hexes. That’d make it about mid- to late July, which explained the suffocating humid air that plastered his blond hair to his forehead in the heat. The still air also bore with it a stench of death that seemed to etched itself into the walls, and was so easily soaked up by the old wood that Draco was surprised it hadn’t started rotting and pealing from the smell alone.

Draco bit his lip painfully as another tortured scream resonated in the walls, and he could swear a taste of copper filled his mouth as teeth pierced fragile skin. There had been loud sounds earlier coming from what Draco assumed was the foyer, and he could only wonder what the latest Death Eater raid had entailed as shouts and protests had filled the air before drifting off again. If he had to make an educated guess it seemed like they had caught more hostages, more to be stored away in the dungeons for later for Bellatrix’s amusement.

A quiet click from the door leading to his bedroom snapped Draco out of his thoughts who suddenly felt apprehensive and giddy as his father’s warning rang in his head. He quickly scrambled off the bed, feeling incredibly vulnerable as he became aware of the absence of his wand which had been taken from him the second he had appeared within the Manor back in June. The memory caused a surge of panic to well up within him, and the urge to throw up battled with his need to run and hide somewhere.

Before he could decide on either the door slid open without a sound, undoubtedly charmed with a silencing spell to catch him unaware in case they’d need to ambush him for any reason. As the door swung open fully, Severus Snape walked into the room with his robes billowing behind him and eyed Draco critically where he was standing on edge like a trapped animal. 

“Draco,” he greeted calmly in his silky voice, seemingly ignoring the anxiety which was rolling off Draco in waves.

Draco only nodded mutely in return, his body relaxing a bit as he realised Snape hadn’t brought anyone else with him. He trusted Severus not to hurt him, even though Draco was unsure where his loyalties lied these days.

His old professor’s eyes travelled across the dark room, his gaze scrutinising before they landed back on Draco who suddenly felt self-conscious of the state of his room and the state of himself, both of which were equally unkempt as a result of the distress he’d suffered over the last weeks. But instead of commenting with his usual snide remarks, Snape only hummed thoughtfully and said, “come with me,” before turning around in a sweeping motion and exiting the room, leaving Draco gaping after him.

He was allowed to go? He watched in bewilderment as the sleek, dark robes disappeared around the corner before his feet caught up with his brain, and he scrambled to catch up with his old professor who somehow was already halfway down the hall.

Draco struggled to keep his composure as he finally managed to walk in step next to Snape, who didn’t even as much as glance at him as he lead them down towards the main floor. It made an unsettling feeling lace itself in Draco’s stomach; “What is happening?” Draco wasn’t really sure he wanted to know.

With a swift and graceful movement, Snape retrieved something from within his robes and shoved it in Draco’s direction without once breaking the fast pace they were keeping.

Draco couldn’t quite comprehend what was in his hands before warm and familiar magic laced soothingly around his fingers as if in greeting, and he came to an abrupt halt as he realised with a startle that Snape had given him back his wand.

Snape seemed to have noticed the absence of a figure following him and had stopped at the top of the staircase leading down to the foyer. His gaze was penetrating but he was silent as Draco looked at him with badly concealed wonder and fear.

“Severus?” Draco hated himself for the doubt and insecurity he heard in his own voice, all too aware of what such displays of weakness could mean in front of the Dark Lord. He gulped at the thought, as he became distinctly aware of Snape’s presence approaching and what this could all mean.

“Keep it with you but make sure it out of sight.” As if sensing that the answer wasn’t good enough Snape pressed his lips into a thin line, which Draco recognised as a look that the professor only reserved for when Granger was being particularly obnoxious. It was only now that Draco realised that it was Snape looking pained. “The Dark Lord is requesting your presence.”

Even though Draco had expected it, he felt his blood run cold with fear as the sinking feeling in his stomach told him that this was it; he’d most likely be dead soon as the Dark Lord’s punishments always had death as an end result. It all just depended on how long the torture would last first.

They stood in tense silence as Snape was looking at Draco and Draco was looking everywhere else. Those black eyes seemed to bore into him, and if Draco wasn’t a skilled Occlumens he’d have thought Snape was reading his mind.

Draco worried his lip again as his mind went in overdrive, but before he could form any coherent thoughts a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Draco looked at his professor in surprise and could have sworn he detected a hint of worry in Snape’s face.

“Draco, we have to go. Now.”

Taking a shaky breath, Draco steeled himself and raised his chin in what he knew looked like self-assurance and arrogance, and nodded at Snape who turned to decent down the stairs with the same purposeful pace as before and Draco following close behind.

The ruckus he’d heard earlier might have quieted but the strained atmosphere in the foyer was palpable as Snape and Draco entered the room. There were only a few people there thankfully, four in addition to him and Snape as far as Draco could count, but it was who those people were which made his stomach drop.  
He watched as Snape walked over to his father who was standing looking resigned in the corner of the room and whispered something to the man which only elicited a weak nod in response. By the main doors to the foyer stood the tall, thin frame of Dolohov, who was sneering at the two figures hunched on the floor. One of them was his aunt who was screeching in triumph over the very still and bloody figure of Hermione Granger. Draco could only stare at his old classmate who looked like she was barely breathing behind the thick cover of grime and blood.

“I’d love to slice you up and see your filthy blood run dry, but unfortunately my dear Cissy would be very upset if I ruined her carpet, and - ah, my littlest nephew, I’m so glad you could join us.”

Draco felt all eyes in the room swivel and land on him, and he wanted nothing more than turn and cower in his room again like he had done for weeks, but his feet was rooted into the ground as he remembered Snape’s quiet reassurance only minutes ago.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Come over and give your Auntie Bella a hug.”

Draco approached slowly as one would with a dangerous animal, and the instance he was within reach Bellatrix snagged his collar and forced him down on to his knees right in front of Granger who he now could see was unconscious. Bellatrix’s eyes were gleaming with insanity as she looked between him and the Mudblood, her mouth stretched into a monstrous imitation of a smile with all yellow and crooked teeth.

“Dolohov! Get Draco his present.” She barked at the tall figure by the door without taking her eyes off of him. “You should be grateful dear nephew, our gracious lord has decided that killing you would be too much of a waste of pure blood.”

He wasn’t going to die? He almost wanted to cry in relief, he had been terrified for weeks... yet the looks Snape was giving him and the way Lucius was avoiding his eyes quickly crushed any hope he possibly had left as clarity hit him like a physical punch to the face;  the Dark Lord had other, far more sinister plans for Draco.

In that moment Dolohov returned, carrying something bundled up in a thick cloth and handed it over to Bellatrix with scowl. 

Bellatrix grabbed the Mudblood by her hair and tilted her head back, placing her wand to her temple. For a second Draco worried she was about to kill Granger off, but the whispered _enevrate_ made him breath a sigh of relief. As much as he hated the girl, he wasn’t sure if he could stomach watching her murder. Granger woke up with a gasp, which was choked by a sob as she recognised where she was and who she was with. Draco rather wanted to join her.

“This,” Bellatrix started, grabbing Granger by her chin and forcing her to look at what she was holding, “is by the Lord’s own design. As much as I’m sure you’re all dying to know what it is, all that the two of you need to know is its purpose.”

Her tones had gone from smooth and sweet to dangerous and deranged in a matter of seconds and Draco rather wanted to throw up with the anticipation. He then remembered the wand hidden in his sleeves and realised that Snape had given it to him for this purpose; so he had a chance to fight his way out of there. But before he had a chance to draw his wand Dolohov had him by the shoulders and forced him face to face with Granger, whose eyes were shiny with tears.

Draco felt like he should say something to her, but he bit his tongue in the knowledge that it’d only cause outrage in his deranged aunt who was preaching some sort of monologue. Granger too looked like she was too scared to pay attention, which was quite telling about the situations seriousness as he’d seen her keep awake through all of Binn’s lectures.

“Now,” Draco was snapped out of his thoughts as a plain glass orb was placed between them, and he understood it was the object Dolohov had brought in earlier. “This might hurt quite a bit.” Bellatrix grinned again, and Dolohov tightened his grip on Draco’s shoulders and Draco could see Bellatrix do the same to Granger.

Then the orb started glowing ominously in swirls of colours he could have sworn he’d never seen before. Bellatrix was chanting something in the background, but Draco couldn’t tear away his eyes from Granger who stared at his just as fearful. The glow became stronger, so strong that Draco attempted to squint before realised get couldn’t as he was locked in place, kneeling on the floor mirroring Granger. Dolohov and Bellatrix were no longer keeping them in place and it was only him and the Mudblood left in a little bubble. A bubble which filled with an array of light and colour, an echo of a chant and powerful magic which started of as a faint sting but was now threatening to tear him apart. He watched as Granger’s body shook with violent sobs, and he could feel tears tracking down his own pale cheeks too. His vision blurred as he tried to suppress the tears and as the pain was becoming too much to handle, but he blinked furiously to clear them as he felt an inexplicable need to see Granger pulling through for some reason. As his vision cleared for a brief second he could have sworn he met his own grey eyes looking back at him in terror, but before his mind was able to comprehend what he’d just seen the magic within the bubble peaked and Draco embraced the blissful and painless darkness of unconsciousness.

...

Sleep was a confusing assault of flashing images which flickered in rapid succession in Draco’s mind’s eye. Sometimes it was Potter yelling, sometimes an unfamiliar man and woman smiling down at him, and too often a disturbing amount of ginger. He’d think it was a nightmare if it hadn’t been for the unsettling feeling of familiarity and warmth towards the foreign scenarios playing in his head. He was aware enough to understand they weren’t his memories, but despite his efforts to tear himself away they kept hitting him in rapid succession.

Only after what felt like an eternity to Draco a loud explosion rang and shook through the Manor, sending him shooting up in bed in terror. His chest felt heavy as he sucked in large gulps of air as the sound of a battle carried up to his dark rooms. He scrambled off the bed to the door, stubbing his toes on the edges of his desk in the process. The wards had been set back in place, he could tell as he practically bounced of them in his haste to escape. He wanted to scream as he realised he was a sitting duck, it was just a matter of time before whoever the attackers were would find him trapped in his own bedroom. And how humiliating that would be.

There was more shouting and Draco could hear someone yell a blasting hex a lot closer to were his rooms were than before. He felt panic well up within him again as he was completely unarmed and blind in the dark as the attackers were closing in. Knowing that he could at least solve one of those problems he rushed back to his bedside where he lit up his reading lights. The suffocating blackness disappeared and Draco felt himself breathing easier for a brief second, but then he spotted his wand tucked halfway underneath his pillow and the memories from last night came rushing back; Snape coming to collect him, giving him his wand, and Bellatrix and Granger... then nothing.

He paused, his eyes staring blankly ahead as he searched his mind for memories just out of his grasp. It was surprisingly blank and Draco wondered if he focused hard enough he would detect traces of residue memory charms. But he didn’t have time as he heard several heavy boots stomping outside his door, and he snatched the wand which felt wrong in his hand and his heart was racing a mile a minute.

“Hermione!” Someone called and his hand clenched around the cold wood and raised it towards the door, ready to attack if they tried to come in here. He searched his mind for every useful curse he could think of, but the tremble which was rocking through him kept him from keeping focus. Draco glared at his wand arm and willed it to still, but his mind halted uncertainly as he saw the unfamiliar slimness of it. Before his mind could fully register what he was seeing however, more shouting erupted from right outside and then the door burst of its hinges and the last thing Draco saw before an astray hex hit him between the eyes were a mass of wild hair and faces full of worry.

...

Hermione was jostled awake from a fitful sleep by a large set of hands shaking her shoulders gently. Her head felt like it was full of cotton and the nightmare she’d had kept haunting her as she blinked rapidly to clear her vision in the bright light. Someone was speaking, but everything was too foggy for Hermione to fully comprehend what they were saying.

“ – we’d like to ask you some questions.”

She squinted against the lights, recognising the usually warm voice from her third year, “Professor,” Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the chair she was sitting on, but something twinged around her wrists and she felt the confiding bonds of a rope charm digging into her arm. She looked up at Remus with growing apprehension, “What’s happening?” 

Her voice sounded off to her own ears and the way Remus looked down at her with a mixture of pity and disgust felt wrong and foreign. She was bound to a chair in a too bright, plain room while her mind couldn’t seem to clear the fog following her sleep. This was all wrong. Everything was wrong. “Remus? Where are we?” Her voice came out scratchy and weak, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time, or as if she'd been screaming.

Her old professor looked taken aback for a brief moment, but quickly composed himself with a quick cough, “Well, that information is unfortunately confidential. All I can say is that we’ve brought you in here for information. Can you answer some questions for us?”

Hermione hesitated, “I don’t understand.”

Remus sighed, looking like he was taking some pity on her, “We found you during a raid at Malfoy Manor. We were searching for someone and you were locked up and unconscious in the dungeons. Now, why would we find you there?"

Her memories of what had happened during the last few hours were vague at best; she remembered meeting up with the Order at Private Drive and taking Polyjuice with the others. Then her and Shacklebolt had separated from the others, but the Death Eaters had known of their plan and intercepted them both by shooting them down. Hermione didn’t remember much in between that and when they brought her to the Manor, just that when she’d finally woken up that terrible woman was pulling at her hair, forcing her to look into the face of Draco Malfoy who looked as terrified as she felt. Then... everything was blurry again, but she remembered some sort of incantation? Even though she didn’t have any experience with them she knew they were extremely powerful and had severe effects on the castees. The apprehension she’d previously felt grew tenfold as she understood that muddled thoughts were the least of her problems if she’d been exposed to one.

“A raid? Is everyone alright? Harry, Ron?”

Remus seemed reluctant all of a sudden, like the line of questions had thrown him off, but before Hermione could continue prodding a sharp rap on the door broke the built up tension between them and she frowned dejectedly as Remus went to open the door.

She couldn’t see who was standing in the doorway as Remus’ figure blocked the slight gap in the door, but she could hear furious whispering while Remus kept glancing back at Hermione with sceptical eyes.

After what seemed like forever, Remus closed the door with a sigh and turned to her with a searching look. “I think it’d be best,” he started, folding his hands in front of him, “if you disclosed everything that happened at the Manor, Draco.”

...

Draco was laying wide awake on top of a makeshift cot in a room which looked like it had previously been a small living room. Someone were whispering outside, but he didn’t recognise their voices. He didn’t dare move while there were still possibly hostile people nearby who might hear him roam about, especially when he didn’t know why they’d brought him wherever they were in the first place.

He felt strange where he was lying on the thin mattress. He had barely noticed previously during the attack on his home, but now that he had time to think and take in all the impressions something felt... off. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but the way his chest felt heavy and how the blankets hugged him just felt wrong. Everything within him itched to take full inventory of himself, to check for injuries, but to his utter frustration the people outside seemed like they weren't wavering from their post any time soon. They had been there since he woke up but no one had come in to check on him either.

Draco bit his lip unsure as he felt his patience wearing thin. The people outside kept talking, surely they wouldn’t notice if he moved out of bed... Before he could think about his decision or change his mind he slid from underneath the covers and let his bare feet hit the cold, wooden floorboards.

The room was only dimly lit and he had to squint as he tiptoed across the small space towards the window. From there Draco could see a narrow street lined with houses and lamp posts illuminating the pavements were a woman was walking her dog. It was a muggle neighbourhood he realised, but that was not what made him freeze in terror.

In the darkness his reflection was barely there, but the features he could distinguish in the faint light wasn't any he recognised as his own. He leaned in closer to get a better look and realised to his horror that even though the reflection wasn’t his it was still rather familiar.

“Granger?” he whispered and gingerly touched the cold glass, but then wished he hadn’t as he watched the Granger in the mirror imitate the action, and their fingers touched on the cool glass and his eyes fell on his hand.

He withdrew as if burnt and cradled his wrist which was far too petite or feminine to be his. And then he became aware of all the other irregularities as well. How soft curls tickled his face and how he felt shorter, lighter. The heaviness of his chest suddenly made a lot more sense.

“Mirror. I need a mirror.” He muttered to himself and the sinking feeling in his gut only worsened as he heard the obnoxious timbre of Hermione Granger’s voice.

Draco no longer cared if he was making a ruckus as he stumbled around the room on unfamiliar feet. He was suddenly all too aware that his sense of balance was off as he tripped on his feet and fell towards the floor with a loud thud.

He lay on the floor stunned as wild hair splayed around him like a fan and he tried to process what had just happened. He was Hermione Granger. He tugged at the dark curls and felt the painful sting in his own scalp. This was the Mudblood’s hair, but now it was attached to him.

This wasn’t Polyjuice. As much as he wished it was, something within him knew it wasn’t. It was something else, something darker.

His throat went dry as reality dawned on him. He was Hermione Granger; a Mudblood, a know-it-all, a girl.

Draco Malfoy screamed.

...

“Please listen to me! You have to believe me, Remus!”

Hermione could tell that she sounded desperate, could hear it in the voice that was coming out in a terrifying rush but wasn’t hers. The sharp baritone was one she knew all too well and belonged to a boy that had tormented her for years. A boy she'd in return loathed for each snide and prejudiced comment and jab he’d ever made towards her and her friends.

Remus was giving her a critical look as she frantically tried to explain a situation she herself didn't understand, but he hadn’t interrupted her once during her account of what had happened. He had looked briefly surprised when she had told him about the plan to disguise seven people as Harry Potter to evade Voldemort, but had turned grave when she explained that the Death Eaters had shot down the thestral Kingsley and her had been flying on and brought her to the Manor. The dark look had deepened as she kept retelling what she remembered from Malfoy Manor and when she’d gotten to the part of the incantation Remus had shot out of his chair. Hermione couldn’t tell if he believed her or if he was upset with what he thought were lies.

Remus stood there fuming, looking everywhere but at her. She’d hardly ever seen her old professor like this, all twisted up with anger and sadness. Her panicked up as she understood that it might not be her that were the root to all of Remus’ troubles.

“Is everyone else okay? Harry? Ron? Tonks?”

Remus seemed to have a hard time in composing himself, but he squared his shoulders and sat back down with the same tired, neutral mask he’d worn earlier.

“They’re fine.” He replied shortly, “Though as you probably gathered, we ran into the same problems as... yourself.” He bit out the last part, as if it was hard to him to say out loud.

“Remus.” She drew a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She needed that sharp mind everyone credited her as the smartest witch of her age. “I understand this is all a lot, and impossible to believe, but I –,”

The door open with a bang, making both Hermione and Remus jump in fright and turn to stare at the intruder. In the doorway stood Madeye Moody, his blue eyes swivelling in its’ socket before landing on Hermione who suddenly felt very naked and exposed under the scrutiny.

“There is something you should see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a cliché, but I wanted to add a twist to it which I've been thinking about for some time. Originally, I wrote this a couple of years back, but my writing style then didn't fit with how it is now, so I had to draft up another beginning for this one. 
> 
> This was also typed on my wonky, old tablet since I'm home over Christmas, so I'm sorry for any typos and formatting errors in the text. If you spot any please let me know.
> 
> A kudos and a comment is always greatly appreciated!


	2. Do as I Say, Not as I Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made some changes in chapter 1! Nothing major, but if something seems off in this chapter that might be why :) 
> 
> Also, might come back to this chapter for editing soon, but I was just at a point where I just needed to finish it and get it up here on ao3. Let me know of any mistakes! This is also written on my dodgy tablet, but thankfully will be back to my laptop next week.

Hermione was being dragged down the musty hallways of Grimmauld Place by Moody, who kept a solid grip on her neck as he steered her around another corner and up a floor.

Her mind raced as she stumbled along, but neither her thoughts nor her feet was able to keep up with what was happening. She reasoned that she was probably in shock. It was the only explanation as to why she wasn’t freaking out about the impossible prospect that she was Draco Malfoy. Maybe it was the utter ridiculousness of it all. Her mind kept telling her it wasn’t possible, that it must be some kind of trick with a logical explanation to it, but something within her stirred in unpleasant protest as if telling that she was being borderline facetious.

Moody yanked her to an abrupt halt in front of the room her and Ginny had shared before her fifth year, effectively snapping her to the present with a shake. From inside she could hear someone yelling, but the words were muffled by the door. Hermione could feel Remus hover uncertainly behind them in the hallway, probably hearing more of whatever was happening inside than she was.

There was a loud crash, and suddenly Moody was tearing open the door with wand at ready while dragging Hermione along inside. The sight that greeted them made everyone stop dead in their tracks, frozen in shock at the sight of a familiar-looking girl with wild, bushy hair brandishing a fire iron like a sword at Tonks.

“Don’t touch me!”

The auror was obviously as surprised as the rest of them, as she stood there with her hands up and mouthed reassurances at the distressed girl, her hair a violent shade of purple. Neither of the women seemed to have noticed the people staring at them from the doorway, too caught up in the argument that must have occurred just then.

“Where am I? What the hell did you do to me!” The girl was shouting angrily as she swung the iron in a wide arch around her, shattering a glass ornament standing on a coffee table. That explained the crash earlier at least.

“What’s going on?” Hermione heard herself whisper in those low, scarily familiar tones. She hadn’t made the conscious decision to speak, hadn’t intended to break the palpable tension in the room, but now all eyes were on her and she suddenly felt very small. “I’m sorry, I- “

“ _Fuck_ _me!_ ”

Hermione’s eyes snapped up to meet the girl’s, whose hazel eyes were blazing with a flurry of unreadable emotions. Hermione worried briefly that the girl might take a swing at her with the fire poker too, but thankfully the girl’s arms went slack at her sides and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

A unsettling sensation of familiarity swept through her as their eyes stayed locked together, and suddenly she wasn’t seeing a girl but Draco Malfoy standing there looking wild with a fire iron in hand and surrounded by a flurry of colour.

The moment passed as quickly as it’d come, and the girl -her, she could see it now – was back where Malfoy had stood, and the prospect left Hermione gasping for air as if it sucked every last ounce of magic out of her.

“Oh my God,” She breathed and lifted a trembling hand to cover her mouth, but the foreign feeling if scratchy stubble on the inside of her palm made her withdraw in horror.

She lifted her gaze to the other people in the room, who were all staring at the two of them – since when had she moved from Moody to the middle of the room? Tonks and Remus looked shell-shocked, while Mad-Eye was muttering something to itself as his magical eye swivelled around in every direction in its’ socket.

“I don’t – oh bloody... What’s going on!”

A tense silence followed as the shrill demand echoed through the room, and she could feel panic settle in as her mind finally caught up with the situation. Her vision blurred at the edges and she felt sick as reality hit her between the eyes. Her knees buckled beneath her and the rough carpet scraped her hands as she sat down heavily. 

“It’s not possible.” Malfoy’s fearful whisper was barely audible over the rushing in her head, but in the quiet of the room the words might as well have been shouted out loud. “It can’t be.”

Hermione felt some of her own anger spark into life as he muttered to himself, mixing in with her building panic and fear. He had no right to say anything, not when he was in league with Voldemort, responsible for Dumbledore, being who he was.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” She hissed, glaring furiously at hands that were too long and thin to be hers, and were covered in unfamiliar calluses and scars that all probably told a story but she was too distressed to care.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Granger! You don’t – “

“Like what!? Like you deserve?” said Hermione and directed her glare to Malfoy, “What right do you think you have here, Malfoy? For all I know, you’re responsible for this! Just like you are responsible for Dumbledore and Hogwarts!”

Malfoy paled dramatically at the mention of their old headmaster, and if Hermione wasn’t so angry she might have thought it comical to see herself jolt back in surprise as if slapped.

“I never – “

Remus stepped forward, his hands raised in front of him in appeasement while looking between the two of them with a firm expression. “Both of you, please, stop this. It leads nowhere.”

There was a brief pause as the adults eyed them critically, and Hermione heaved a deep breath as she struggled to reign in her anger and panic. She needed to be rational about this, and even if Malfoy decided to be an arsehole didn’t mean that she had to act like one too.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to lose my temper just now.” She meant every word she’d said to that slimy git though.

Remus’ eyes shifted to Malfoy expectantly, but the Slytherin only clutched the fire iron tighter in his fist like he was about to have another swing with it if anyone dared approach him.

From the way Tonks and Moody was brandishing their wands they worried he just might.

“Listen here, laddie. Or girlie, as the case may be,” started Moody, easily ignoring the deadly glares he received from both Hermione and Malfoy, “This is some pretty dark magic, and you don’t mess with dark magic. If this ain’t Polyjuice, and the hell it seems like it to me, then it’s a sinister piece of work I’ll tell ya.”

“Not Polyjuice?” asked Tonks, sounding sceptical. “Then what is it? I’ve never seen or heard of anything that does this before. Nothing can change a person’s magical signature.”

Moody grunted, “Nothing is beyond the Dark Lord, it would seem. This is powerful magic, a potion would be able to achieve this severe of an effect.”

“And what effect would that be, Alastor?” interrupted Lupin with his usually calm demeanour, “From what you seem to be suggesting, this is no simple concealment or illusion.”

“No. As Tonks said, that wouldn’t change their magical signature which is part of a wizard’s being. This is no outwards appearance change, Remus.”

Hermione started feeling sick as the aurors and Lupin continued discussing among themselves. What were they saying? They couldn’t possibly be saying what she thought that were saying? Several questions built up within her, questions that she knew they wouldn’t be able to answer but threatening to burst out of her nonetheless.

Malfoy beat her to it however, “It’s not... permanent, is it? You can fix it?” He was uncharacteristically quiet, seeming to finally have realised that he was in a room full of members of the Order, completely at their mercy.

The adults shared an unsettling look, before Remus shook his head, “We don’t know, it’s too early to tell. It’d help if we knew more of what happened at Malfoy Manor.. Dra–Hermione mentioned an incantation?”

There was a brief moment as Malfoy hesitated, and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if his loyalties clashed with his self-preservation.

“I don’t really remember much,” admitted Malfoy with a terse shrug, “Snape came to get me in my room, he... didn’t say much except to be careful. He brought me to the foyer, where Bellatrix and Dolohov kept... Granger.”

His eyes shifted to Hermione, but quickly averted them again as if it was uncomfortable to him to look at her too long. Good, she thought, let him be disgusted by his own face, serves him right.

Malfoy sucked in a breath as everyone kept looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue, “They forced me down on my knees, locking me in place, I don’t know... My Aunt had been torturing her – “

He gasped suddenly, his eyes widening dramatically as he just realised something, but before anyone else could interpret the expression Tonks smiled reassuringly at him, “Don’t worry, I healed you – I mean, Hermione, right up. Good as new.”

“I... thanks.”

The treatment Bellatrix had given Hermione upon arrival had fallen to the back of her mind. It had seemed unimportant in the grand scheme of things but thinking back now she remembered the pain and terror, and wondered what state Malfoy had seen her in for him to react like he had.

Malfoy bit his lip and shock his head angrily, dark curls falling in front of and hiding the girly features of his face, “I don’t remember much else. I can’t remember an incantation.”

Remus nodded, taking in all the information with surprising calm, “That’s alright. You don’t remember anything else, Hermione?”

Searching her mind beyond what she’d already told him she came up entirely blank. She shook her head, feeling tears well up in her eyes as the frustration and fear returned. “I don’t, I’m sorry,” she said as she bit back the sob threatening to escape her and scrubbed a hand over a pointed face. She could feel Malfoy glaring at her, probably horrified that she was crying while looking like him. As much as she’d like to think she didn’t care, she found that she understood – she didn’t particularly like Malfoy’s trademark sneer marrying her face like that either.

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. We’ll look into it, something is bound to show up.”  said Remus reassuringly, and patted her on the shoulder. The motion was only slightly reluctant, which Hermione was grudgingly grateful for.

“I believe you’re both victims in this, in the meantime-“

“In the meantime, both of you stay here.”

Everyone stared at Moody in shocked silence. Hermione scrambled into standing position while she gaped, unable to believe what she was hearing, “What? You can’t expect me to stay here! Not with him! Harry and Ron – “

“Will be fine. Remus, Tonks and I leaving to see them along with everyone else soon. In fact, we’re late,” said Moody gruffly, his eye focusing on the old grandfather clock tucked into the corner.

Tonks took a step forward, “We can’t just leave them here alone, Alastor!”

“Yes, we can. As I recall, this – “ He pointed directly at Hermione, “Is the brightest witch of her age and has more battle experience than most aurors. I believe that if anyone is capable of protecting themselves against the Malfoy boy it’d be her.”

Hermione was torn between bursting with pride at the flattery and horror about being stuck in the old Black house with her worst enemy while wearing his skin. God knew how long they’d stuck like this; it could be hours, days, weeks... were they going to keep them locked up for that long? They couldn’t. Couldn’t keep her in. Harry, Ron and her had already decided to go hunt for Horcruxes, so there was no way she’d stay here, but... she couldn’t go out looking like Malfoy either.

Malfoy stepped forward, the iron bar raised again while red in the face with anger, “You can’t keep me here! Not with the Mudblood! I refuse! I need to –“

“Go back to your Lord? Your Father? I’m sorry to break it to you, lad, but they put you in this position. If you go back now, I suspect you can expect a very different treatment.”

Malfoy reeled back as if Moody has physically hit him, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. His eyes turned distant, and the iron slipped out of his slack grip and hit the floor with a loud clang.

Moody swept his wand in an arch and with a silent _accio_ summoned the fire poker to him, before he turned to Hermione who had to quickly composed herself and tear herself away from the surreal sight of a defeated Malfoy in her body.

“I have your wand. And his.” said Moody, and procured two wands from the big pockets of his worn coat. “I expect you to take good care of both. Only give him his if absolutely necessary, we’re talking life or death. Keep vigilant and don’t let anyone in or anyone out.”

Hermione nodded obediently as she carefully took both length of wood and pocketed them. She didn’t speak as Moody kept giving her instructions, only shared a look with Remus and Tonks who seemed unconvinced and worried.

“We have to go,” said Moody to the couple, checking the grandfather clock for the last time.

The two only nodded in response as they went to leave. On their way out Tonks tried to give Hermione a reassuring smile, and Remus clapped her on the back again, but no one said anything as if the reality of the situation was hitting home and made it to oppressing for any words to form in the small space of the room.

Hermione walked the aurors and her old professor to the door in silence, and Remus was only who paused at the entrance as the other two apparated away on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, “Send a patronus if there’s anything. And I mean _anything_. We will figure this out, Hermione, I promise. I will be back soon and keep you posted with the progress of things. In the meantime, try to be civil. I understand this is difficult, but you’re strong, okay?”

Hermione nodded faintly, fighting back the tears threatening to come again as her professor turned to leave.

“Oh, and also, we found this during the raid. I believe it belongs to you.” He said, and fished out her purple, beaded bag out of his pockets that he handed to her.

Not able to muster up more than a weak smile in thanks, Hermione watched as Remus hesitated briefly in the doorway and glanced back at her. For a second, she thought that he might hug her, but he seemed to think twice of it and only gave her another reassuring smile and then he was gone too.

She stood alone in the dark corridor of Grimmauld Place, listening for any other sound, but could hear none. Hermione was alone. The tears that had brimming in the corner of her eyes started flowing freely down her cheeks, and she choked on a sob as the events of the night flashed through her mind on repeat.

The tears were never ending, and only after what felt like an eternity, when her throat was raw and her eyes were crisp and itchy from crying, did she pick herself up and left to go sleep on the ratty couch in the main living room.

...

Hermione stared emotionless at the boy in the mirror. His hair was askew, sticking out at odd angles and curling slightly at the end of the odd strand. Grey, tried eyes blinked lazily back at her as they roamed over a pale face showing a hint of stubble which to her surprise had turned out to be a dark blonde with a tint of ginger to it.

Her gaze drifted downwards to the filthy shirt the boy had been wearing in their sleep. It was rumbled and wrinkled in odd places, the collar sticking up at the right side and scratching the boy’s beard. It had come undone sometime during the night, the top three buttons having popped open and showed the top of a thin chest. The faint purple and silver marks criss-crossing the white skin had come as another surprise to Hermione, though this was far less amusing than the fact that Malfoy had some Weasley in him after all.

She gingerly traced a raised line crossing the collarbone with the tip of her finger, feeling the rough ridges of a badly healed wound. She’d discovered similar lines on Malfoy’s face too but they were much fainter, barely visible compared to his chest which bore resemblance to the London Underground Tube map.

Shuddering, she withdrew her hand – Malfoy’s hand, with disgust. This felt like an invasion of privacy and too intimate to be doing to an enemy. As much as her curiosity was begging her to use the chance to explore more, her utter terror regarding what she aptly named the ‘Freakiest Friday’ – though it was only a Monday – prevented her from inspecting anything below the shoulders more than she had to.

There would be no showering or toilet use until they changed back, she didn’t care what Malfoy said, he would not get to see her naked or vice versa, urine tract infections be damned.  There was only the two of them at Grimmauld anyway with the exception of Kreacher, and the house elf was hardly the picture of cleanliness and personal hygiene.

And yet, her mind whispered seductively, the mystery that is Draco Malfoy was completely laid bare before her if she just reached out, and wasn’t it a bad idea to not maintain a certain level of personal hygiene?

Her fingers started itching with temptation, but a loud crash followed by screaming made her jump in fright and she looked around wildly for the sound.

“Oh God, no,” she moaned, and ran out of the bathroom and down the corridor. She tried not to think too much of how her now long legs made a good impression of Bambi on ice as she tripped down the flight of stairs leading to the hallway.

Hermione could hear Walburga Black before she saw her, “Filth! Mudblood! Tarnishing the foundations of my fathers’ house! Get Out!”

As she turned the last corner she could see Malfoy laying in a sprawl on the floor while gaping in surprise at the portrait of Sirius’ mother screaming at him. With a swift, practised motion, Hermione jumped forward and pulled the curtains shut with a scowl, muttering to herself about clumsiness and reckless people.

When quiet finally fell once again, she turned to look at the boy in her body with a glare as she demanded, “What do you think you are doing?”

Malfoy’s mouth moved without any sound, like he was trying to come up with another way to insult her but was too shocked to form any coherent sentences. He looked from her to the portrait to the ugly umbrella stand laying tipped over next to him with a confused expression, and Hermione felt a hint of pity for him at his obvious sense of loss.

“Listen,” she started, and crossed her arms, “You just woke Mrs. Black. She’s all bark and no bite, but she makes a lot of noise and we’re trying to stay hidden, so try not to disturb her again.”

“Why?”

Hermione frowned, “I think that much would be obvious”

“No, why are we staying hidden? I hardly think the Death Eaters will be looking for us in a muggle neighbourhood.”

“Well, as it turns out, Snape knows of this place. He might not be able to tell anyone, but – “

“It’s under Fidelius?” 

Hermione’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She’d never admit it, but she was impressed how quickly Malfoy had figured that out, “I – yes.” She didn’t really see any reason to lie to him. The door had been locked with several charms and wards last night after she’d laid awake for hours trying to listen for any movement or indication that Malfoy would attempt to escape. There was no way he’d get past them without a wand.

“Then why worry about noise? Fidelius charms make things invisible, intangible, unplottable, and _soundproof_ ,” said Malfoy and ticked off each property on his finger, and it reminded Hermione that the boy had been second best in the class after her for a reason.

“It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

Malfoy snorted humourlessly and pushed himself off the floor, “Coming from you, I find that hard to believe. Always seeking out trouble you and Potter, can’t just keep out of other people’s business.”

Some of the anger from yesterday flashed back to life, and Hermione sniffed haughtily and looked down her nose at him, “We don’t look for trouble, Malfoy, but we don’t run from it either, which is more than can be said for _some_.”

“Don’t,” Malfoy growled, his trademark sneer looking just as ill-fitting and ugly on her face as it had last night, “talk about things you know nothing about, Mudblood.”

Before she could retort, Malfoy spun on his heel and stomped down towards the kitchens with about the grace of a troll.

She huffed angrily at his behaviour. If they had to live together for an unknown amount of time they should try to at the very least be civil, but knowing Malfoy he was going to be difficult and hateful like always every step of the way.

Not really feeling hungry when Malfoy was in the kitchen, Hermione let long legs lead her to the library. Even in Malfoy’s body she was itching to read, and if she could spend the time being productive and find a counter-curse while the Slytherin was sulking, all the better.

She’d make sure to rub his nose in it when he realises that he’s being saved by a Mudblood.


	3. Don't Bite the Hand that Feeds You

Draco was laying on top of the small cot he’d woken up in only 24 hours before. It was dark outside again, but he’d thankfully found some lanterns and lights that didn’t require magic to work. They left the room in a warm, comfortable glow that he’d usually consider reassuring, but his mind was too turbulent for him to settle down and relax.

He hadn’t seen Granger since the incident with the portrait of his mother’s aunt, but if he’d have to make an educated guess he would bet his left arm – Granger’s left arm, that he would find her in the library with her nose – his nose, buried in a book.

With a frustrated growl, he buried his face – _Granger’s_ _face_! - in the threadbare pillow as hot anger and confusion coursed through him at his addled thoughts.

And the pronouns were the least of his worries. As the day had gone by he’d discovered that being Granger was quite different from being Draco, and that had been just in a physical sense. Of course, it was to be expected, her being a girl and him being a boy, but apart from the obvious he’d discovered a surprising amount of differences already.

For instance, the way her body moved was different. Usually when he walked he engaged his whole body, but Granger’s body refused to move like that. He’d tried but it was uncomfortable, so to his great reluctance he’d let the body he was wearing relax into what felt natural, which turned out to be a sway in the hips with little movement of the upper body.

It had only one of many disturbing moments he’d experienced during the day, the biggest one being waking up in a daze and having briefly forgotten about the night before. Draco had jumped out of bed in panic when he thought he was being attacked by a large rat which had turned out to be just his hair – Granger’s hair, hitting him in the face in his sleep.

Waking up and seeing Granger’s reflection staring back at him in the mirror that morning was like having to go through it all over again, in fact it was worse because now he knew it hadn’t been just a nightmare and he was actually stuck in Hermione Granger’s body.

Draco shuddered in disgust as the memory reminded him of his current predicament; he really needed the bathroom, but he couldn’t go because he was Hermione Granger who was female and he didn’t know how things _worked_!

Laying down had only provided a short relief before it had made things ten times worse, and now an hour had passed and he had yet to move. He knew that he should just go, that it couldn’t be significantly different, but something within him was saying that he should consult with Granger and get her consent first. It sounded strangely like his mother.

Besides, he reasoned with himself, he wouldn’t like Granger rummaging around his downstairs without knowing what she was doing. She might break something after all and he was quite fond of his penis, thank you. Also, she was a prude and might never have seen another dick in her life, so Merlin knew what she’d do – maybe she’d have a heart attack and die, and he’d be stuck like this forever. No, that simply wouldn’t do, he thought with a frown. Having decided, he got to his – Granger’s feet and started making his way through the house to find the girl who was wearing his face.

Going by his earlier assumption that he would find her in the library, Draco turned right down the corridor and headed down the stairs leading to the ground floor. He’d had a little time to explore the upper floors that afternoon, and he had discovered to his surprise that it used to be one of his ancestral homes, belonging to the noble House of Black. It appeared that someone had attempted to remove any trace of his family however by stripping out most of the interior and artefacts linked directly to them, but if Lucius had taught him anything as the Malfoy and Black heir he was, it was to recognise the greatness and purity that were their history.

Draco let his hand trail along the grotty walls as he descended downstairs, feeling every ridge and bump in the worn, damaged paper that had been spelled to them centuries ago against his fingertips. He forced himself not to think about how the sensation felt different, felt more sensitive than usual as the smaller hand slid gently over the wallpaper.

“Granger,” he called loudly as he got to ground level and took another right.

He knew she could hear him, but he concentrated on the sound of his feet hitting the soft carpet to prevent himself getting angry with her for ignoring him. He had decided with himself that day that he would at least try to act civil until this was fixed. It wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart or because he suddenly had respect for the Mudblood, but simply because she had his body and that gave her the power to permanently cause damage if she wanted, and Draco had experienced first-hand the viciousness of Hermione Granger.

A snort escaped him involuntarily at the prospect of him acting nice towards the biggest know-it-all in school. As if the Mudblood needed a boost to her already inflated ego while she pranced around Hogwarts with Potty and Weasel drooling after her like obedient dogs, what a joke.

But no, he needed to at least act civil enough for her not to dismember him or worse. Besides, he thought, there are more pressing matters to attend to, his pride could take it and no one else would have to know.

“Are you in there?” Draco asked as he knocked on the oak door leading to the library.

When there was no answer, he pushed on the door to find it glide open silently. The sight that presented itself in the dim light was of a blonde boy curled up in a worn armchair in the middle of the room, a thick tome balanced carefully on his knees while his eyebrows were knitted together in concentration.

“Granger.”

The boy looked up with big, grey eyes which were filled with surprise as they fell on the newcomer.

“Malfoy,” the Mudblood greeted him primly, and Draco felt her curious gaze roam over the body he was wearing. Suddenly feeling inexplicably self-conscious, Draco wrapped his arms around himself to not feel so damn exposed under her watchful stare.   

As if knowing exactly what he was doing, Granger’s eyes shot up to his with an unreadable emotion clouding them, but instead of commenting she simply asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Uhm,” said Draco unintelligently, suddenly feeling all his earlier determination drain away like sand between his fingers, “I just…”

Hermione raised am inquisitive eyebrow as if urging him to go on, and he briefly thought that he looked too much like his Mother when she did that.

He sighed in defeat, “Granger, I really need to… you know. And I thought that maybe we should talk about, well, basic stuff at least.”

There was a pause as Granger stared at him with an unreadable expression, and Draco felt his discomfort grow to the point he was about to lash out and say that never mind, the Mudblood could fuck right off after all, but as he was about to open his mouth to tell her just that, Granger shut the heavy book so firmly that a cloud of dust emitted from it and dissolved into the air, “I think you’re right. God knows how long this will go on, and I’m rather inclined towards a shower. You smell.”

Draco was about to spit an insult at her for that comment, but realised that she was just stating fact as she rose from the chair and he took in her appearance -his appearance. Her clothes were rumbled and stained beyond repair, and his hair was sticking up at odd places while flat in others. He despaired for the state of himself, but knew he could hardly blame Granger for whatever treatment Dolohov and Bellatrix had unleashed upon him after whatever happened at the Manor.

“I guess.” he said nonchalantly, as she approached and stopped in front of him. The feeling of discomfort and exposure returned as Granger loomed over him, and he became acutely aware of the height difference between them – had he always been that much taller than her? Draco had never been particularly tall, not like the Weasel, but being much shorter as Granger suddenly made it overwhelming, and he took a hesitant step back.  

Granger, not having seemed to notice his sudden reluctance, crossed her arms over her chest – his chest, “I think we should deal with your problem first. That way we’re free to talk without any interruptions.”

Draco had to admit he was slightly impressed with her frankness, and also slightly jealous that she seemed to be dealing with their change with such calm and composure. 

“Fine.”

...

Ten minutes later Draco found himself regretting ever coming to Granger for help. The whole ordeal was utterly humiliating, as the girl had hovered over him the whole time until he had ordered her to wait outside while he took care of business.

That didn’t stop her from instructing him obnoxiously through the door however, “I’m serious Malfoy, front to back! I don’t care what you usually do, but when you’re a girl you can’t just do whatever you like.”

Draco was horrified as she kept talking, his cheeks – Granger’s cheeks burning with embarrassment, “I heard you the first time, seriously Granger! And besides, you _should_ care what I usually do, remember you’re the boy now!”

For a blissful second silence fell over the room, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief as he got to business and flushed. The alleviation was broken as Granger finally seemed to have gathered her wits about her, “Yeah, well I’m sure I will handle it fine. I once read this book, and – “

“Being a boy isn’t something you can just read up on, Granger,” interrupted Draco as he washed his hands in the sink that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned for several decades, “It’s something which you just are, regardless of what body you have. Like, just because I have your body doesn’t make me a girl, you know?”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust at that thought – it didn’t, did it? No, he was still Draco Malfoy, despite which… bits he was currently sporting. He might have taken permanent damage to his masculinity, but if the werewolf and that crazy old cot Moody could get them back to their respective bodies preferably sooner than later, then he could live with that.

“Now, Granger,” he said casually and opened the bathroom door, only to find the Mudblood standing there once again gaping at him. “What?” Draco said defensively, his guard rising as he kept looking at him in unconcealed surprise.

It took another moment before the girl seemed able to compose herself, “Sorry, it’s just that… oh never mind, forget it. Now, I suggest we take this in the kitchen, I’m starving.”

Draco shrugged noncommittally which Granger seemed to take as agreement, and lead the way with Draco following in silence.

The kitchen looked exactly like he had left it that morning; messy but at least it was clean. If Draco had to guess, he assumed that this was one of the most frequently used rooms by whoever had lived here most recently. Granger went over to the stove and put on a kettle filled with water.

“Tea?” she asked, sounding surprisingly pleasant. Surprising because firstly, he wasn’t pleasant, and secondly, Granger was never pleasant to him.

“Uhm, sure. Just milk, please.”

An awkward silence fell as she prepared the tea, the only thing breaking the quiet was her humming now and then, but Draco bit his tongue to refrain from commenting with a snide remark about her singing – his singing, really.

“There you go,” said Granger and placed the steaming mug with the light brown liquid in front of him.

Taking a sip, Draco frowned at the drink in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” asked Granger, and gave him a curious look.

Draco shook his head, causing dark curls hitting him in the face which deepened his frown, “It’s odd, but it tastes… off. Too bitter.”

Granger’s eyebrows shot up under her bangs – his bangs, then looked down at her own drink thoughtfully before taking a careful sip. Just like him, she frowned down at her drink, “You’re right… Hey, swap with me.”

“What?” said Draco, sounding scandalized. “Share drinks with you? No.”

“Oh, don’t be an idiot, just give it to me.”

Before Draco knew it, Granger had gotten hold of his drink and took an experimental sip from that too and sighed contentedly, “Much better. Here, take mine.”

She pushed the warm mug into his smaller hands, and he eyed her suspiciously before he carefully took a drink, and found to his surprise that its’ sweet taste suited him much better.

He raised an eyebrow, and looked over at Granger who was watching him like a hawk, “Well?”

“It’s good. Sweet.”

“I usually take two sugars with mine. Mum and Dad always despair over it, as they’re dentist but I…” Granger trailed off, her eyes momentarily filling with sadness but just as quickly turned emotionless as she felt Draco watching her curiously, “But that doesn’t matter. It’s interesting though, but not unexpected that we have each other’s taste buds.”

Draco considered this, and couldn’t help but agree. It made sense that they would like what the other liked since taste was particular to a person’s taste buds, but that raised the question of what other things similar to this were different for them? 

“So, I just think we should cover the basics so we know what to do in case… issues like earlier arise again. There’s no point in getting to know each other in detail as our situation will be fixed soon enough. Actually, I’d prefer not to. It’d make this whole ordeal a lot easier to deal with in my opinion,” said Granger primly as she cradled the steaming mug between her now long fingers.

“I’m good with that. And no talking about the War.”

Granger nodded mutely, staring down into her drink, “This is so weird.”

Draco wholeheartedly agreed with her, but the feeling that they were getting along too well at the moment nagged him so he decided to keep quiet and instead took another sip of his drink. 

“Right, what is there I should know about being Draco Malfoy?”

Humming thoughtfully, Draco racked his brain for specifics. It was difficult to think of any when put on the spot like this, but one thing that had been bothering him sprang to mind. It was probably the most uncomfortable topic, but it’d be fun to watch Granger squirm, “Well, you have my dick now, which you will need to clean regularly. Also, I’d suggest giving him a tug now and then if you don’t want to suffer from a severe case of blue-balls. I know you pride yourself on being a prude and completely undesirable, but if you have my taste buds you probably have my libido too, so… be mindful and all that.”

By the time Draco finished his little monologue, Granger was a violent shade of purple, “I have to…?”

“Yeah, unless you want to experience some serious pain, that is. I know you Gryffindors are into that,” he said with a snort.

Granger looked like she wished the floor would swallow her up for a second, and she groaned as she rested her head on the table, “This is so much worse than I thought.”

Draco shrugged unhelpfully, “It is what it is. Potter and Weasley – ”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“Alright,” said Draco, his hands raised up in defeat, “Except from that _delightful_ experience I had earlier, is there something else I should know?”

Granger was still for a second, seemingly thinking about what she deemed important to enclose to him, before letting out a bark of a laugh that startled Draco in his seat, “Well, there’s not really anything like that you should look out for. I’m pretty low maintenance, and my period is not due for another two weeks, but by that time we should be fixed, so you’ll be alright. Other than that… just take care of my body? Don’t do anything disgusting with it! I will know if you do!”

Draco found himself unable to respond as the prospect of getting Granger’s period haunted him. He couldn’t possibly have to experience that, he just couldn’t! No, Granger better be right about this, she was the brightest witch of her age for god’s sake, she had to be right! …but solving their problem wasn’t up to them, was it. It was up to that incompetent lot of useless aurors and werewolves. He felt the blood drain out of his face – Granger’s face, as he imagined what would happen if Lupin and company failed to fix them within the next week.

“Malfoy.”

Looking up he caught Granger staring at him, though he thankfully saw no pity or sympathy in her eyes – his eyes as she witnessed his internal breakdown, only that curious gaze he’d seen on her earlier.

“What?” he snapped, anger and defensiveness replacing the despair and horror.

Sitting calmly back in her chair, she just raised a condescending eyebrow at him, “Nothing. You just looked like you were having a little trouble there.”

“Of course I’m having trouble, I’m stuck as you for Merlin knows how long!”

“This will be fixed soon! Also, this isn’t exactly a cakewalk for me either!”

They were both standing now glaring at each other, the remainder of their now cold drinks left forgotten on the table.

Draco felt his anger boil underneath his skin, heating up his cheeks and neck with agitation, “Oh poor Granger, always the fucking victim! If this is so bloody difficult for you then why don’t you go read a book about it? Or better yet, go suck off Weasley. I’d bet he’d love that, and maybe it even relaxes you enough to remove that stick you’ve got up your arse!”

Granger’s eyes turned hard as steel, “What would you know about being a victim, all you ever do is cause others harm! Katie Bell, Ron, _Dumbledore_! You are a terrible person, who only deserve what you get, I wonder what I did to deserve to be dragged into this mess with a Death Eater like you!”

If he had been angry before, Draco was now downright furious. How dare she mention Dumbledore. She knew nothing of what he’d been through, what he’d had to do to protect his family, “You think you have all the answers, don’t you! Think you know everything! Well, I’ve got some news for you, the world doesn’t revolve around you! The only reason anyone even cares about your existence is because you are friends with Harry fucking Potter, other than that you are nothing! Your parents must be some pieces of work to have raised such an obnoxious know-it-all such as you!”

Granger went deathly still where she was standing on the other end of the table, her face like stone as she spoke with a low, chilly voice that reminded Draco too much of his father, “Why did I think for a second that this was a good idea? In fact, why even bother? This isn’t permanent anyway. Remus, Tonks and Moody will solve this very soon, and then we’ll never have to see each other again as you will be locked up in Azkaban.” 

“How fucking dare you! You’re nothing but – “

“A filthy, little Mudblood? Surprise Malfoy, I think you’ll find that’s you now.”

Draco froze with dread and felt bile rise in his throat as he realised the truth of her words, and found himself unable to do anything but watch as Granger stomped out of the kitchen without looking back.

He sat back down heavily and stared down at the unfamiliar, petite hands that were resting limply on the table, as his thoughts spiralled down a dark, distressing path that he often had revisited in the last few weeks and all of his sixth year at Hogwarts. One thought in particular kept haunting him, and he heard Granger’s feminine voice whisper out into the empty room;

“But what if they can’t fix us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly shorter than previous chapters, but it felt natural to stop where it did and I didn't want to force it for the sake of the word-count. So here you have it, chapter 3! I will try to get the next chapter up soon! 
> 
> Kudos and feedback is greatly appreciated :)


	4. Then there were Four

Harry stumbled onto the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place with a breathless groan, Ron collapsing in a heap next to him.

“Bloody hell,” the ginger boy said wide-eyed, letting go of Harry who had apparated them there, “How did they find us?”

Shaking his head, Harry staggered to his feet, “I don’t know. I don’t understand why Death Eaters would even be in Muggle London to be honest.”

Ron sighed longingly, “I bet Hermione would.”

Harry silently agreed, but didn’t dare speak of their friend. She had been missing for four whole days, and the only information Remus, Moody or Tonks had been willing to disclose to him and Ron were that she was safe at present but the less they knew the better. It hadn’t been very reassuring to say the least, and Ron had been a bundle of nerves ever since they had returned to the Burrow.

Nodding at Ron as he stood up as well, Harry pushed at the door only to find it was locked. He growled angrily as anxiety filled him; was there somebody inside? Quietly casting all the unlocking spells he knew, he heard the locks click back into place. He carefully gave the door another tentative push that made the door creek open, and he stepped inside with his wand at ready. They didn’t know what to expect from the house now that Dumbledore was gone and Snape had fully revealed himself as part of the Death Eaters.

As they entered, Harry felt the effects of Moody’s Tongue-tying charm ravel and unravel his tongue, but beyond that nothing else jumped on them from the shadows. Harry let out a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived as he took in his surroundings; the hallways was surprisingly clean, the ugly umbrella stand pushed deliberately up against the wall and out of the way, and Mrs. Black’s portrait was pleasantly quiet behind the curtains.

It looked like someone had been here very recently, if they weren’t still here, and Harry felt his heart speed up as he stopped Ron in his tracks, “Listen,” he whispered as he sharpened his ears.

There was a brief second where there wasn’t a sound, and Harry almost thought that he had been wrong when Draco Malfoy suddenly walked out of the kitchen engulfed in a book while carrying a mug of tea.

Harry felt numb as he watched his old rival so casually walk around his Godfather’s old house. He hadn’t seen the other boy since that night at the Astronomy Tower, when Dumbledore had been murdered and his body had fallen from the tower, but here at Grimmauld he looked so at ease as he sauntered around, and Harry felt the numbness be replaced by rage.

“Malfoy!” roared Harry and threw himself at the blonde boy, who dropped the book and mug he was carrying on impact. Slamming the taller boy against the wall, Harry could hear Malfoy’s skull crack painfully against the wood.

The boy’s eyes widened uncharacteristically, “Harry, you’re – “

“ _Silencio_!”

If possible, the grey orbs widened further, filling with fear and hurt, but it didn’t deter Harry’s fury, only served as fuel to it, “You absolute piece of shit!” he screamed and struck Malfoy across his pale face.

The blonde head whipped back, cracking against the wall once more. It made a hot ball of rage and vindication churn in his stomach, and so he repeated the motion, hitting again and again every area he could.

“What are you doing!” Someone shouted from behind them, but Harry didn’t turn around to see, only glared furiously at Malfoy who had hung his head and was breathing shakily. The bastard was obviously exaggerating as usual, but if he wasn’t it was not anything less than he deserved, and –

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed, and only then did Harry loosen his grip on Malfoy’s shirt to turn around. Their friend was standing at the bottom step of the staircase, tightly gripping the banister as she looked at them full of fury.

“What,” She repeated, her voice dangerously low and angry, “Do you think you’re doing.”

“I –,” Harry started angrily and turned towards the Slytherin who had slid down the wall to the floor without the support from Harry propping him up, “What do you mean, what am I doing! Malfoy is in my house, acting like he belongs here! After everything he’s done don’t pretend he deserves better!”   

Hermione’s face was carefully blank as he stared intently at Harry, her eyes not straying from him as she said, “You alright there, Granger?”

Malfoy leaned carefully against the wall, covering his eyes with his arm. He took a shuddering breath, and visibly trying to form words but the silencing spell was firmly in place.

“Did you put a silencing charm on her? Remove it. Now.”

Harry stared at the cold demeanour the girl exuberated in complete surprise with the creeping feeling he was missing something, but complied none the less, “ _Finite incantatem_.”

Stepping down from the staircase, Hermione pushed Harry aside. Harry was too shocked at this development to protest, only letting himself step to the side and stared as the girl crouched in front of the Slytherin.

“Let me look,” Hermione demanded, prying at the arm covering Malfoy’s eyes, but the boy flinched back, sounding broken as he shouted, “Don’t touch me!”

Ron stepped forward protectively, his face red, “Don’t talk to her like that, you – “

One furious glare from Hermione quickly silenced the redhead, and Harry had to admit that he was impressed with how the girl so easily could make their friend step down with only a look. It didn’t elevate the confusion Harry was currently feeling though, if anything it only confused him more as Hermione turned back to Malfoy without another glance at them.

“Don’t think I care for a second, Granger. I’m just doing this for me.” Hermione whispered furiously, which earned her a glare from Malfoy before he reluctantly lowered his arm.

Harry gaped in surprised as he saw the Slytherin’s eyes shiny with tears that were slowly trailing down the hollow, pale cheeks of his face. It reminded him too much of when he’d caught Malfoy crying in the bathroom during sixth year, and Harry felt bile rise in his throat as flashes of red seeped from the blonde boy’s face and chest mixed with water.

“Nothing’s broken at least. You should heal some of that though, otherwise it’ll be sore and bruise quite badly. And stop crying for Merlin’s sake,” said Hermione not unkindly, and stood to her feet, “Now, you should tell the idiots about the situation. I’d rather not have my body pummelled by Potter again, or Merlin forbid, have the Weasel trying to kiss me.”

Harry shared a dumbfounded look with Ron, who looked just as shell-shocked as Harry felt. What was going on with their friend? And Malfoy? They were acting completely insane, like they thought –

“Have you gone off your rocker!?” Ron suddenly shouted, making everyone jump, “What the bloody hell is going on with you guys!” His face was again a vibrant red as he strode towards Hermione, who had turned to head up the stairs but was now standing there tensely, gripping the banister again with white knuckles as the boy approached to tower over her.

Ron came to a freezing halt as Malfoy stood up and cried, “Ronald, stop right now!”

All hell broke loose as Ron spun around and violently pushed Malfoy up against the wall again, his wand digging into the side of Malfoy’s neck. Hermione dove towards the redhead, but Harry was too quick for her as he caught her around the waist before she could dig her nails into Ron.

“Hermione, what’s going on with you?” hissed Harry at the girl who was kicking and screaming in his grip, trying desperately to break free. The girl twisted around and landed an elbow to Harry’s abdomen, effectively winding him and losing his grip on her.

“You idiots!” Hermione yelled so loudly that her voice echoed through the room, “That’s Granger for fuck’s sake! I’m Draco! Stop acting like fucking twats for just a second, and listen!” Everyone stood in stunned silence and stared at the girl who was standing in the middle of it all, her normally bushy hair wild and bristling as she breathed heavily, “Just fucking let her talk, for Merlin’s sake.”

Harry stared at his friend, or who he thought was his friend, imploringly. True, her behaviour was way off and uncharacteristic for her, but in addition to that there were subtle changes he hadn’t noticed before; her hair was unkempt and knotted, while her clothes seemed unwashed and rumbled as if she’d worn them for days maybe even slept in them; she looked downright unclean and dishevelled. It was incredibly unusual for Hermione, who prided herself on looking spotless and sharp even though she had never cared about that girly stuff that Parvati and Lavender seemed so fond off. Looking over at the Slytherin, he noticed that Malfoy were in a similar state of unkemptness; hair sticking up at odd angles, a hint of stubble was detectable, and his clothes were equally as filthy as Hermione’s. Something is very wrong here, Harry thought with a frown.

“He’s telling the truth,” Malfoy gasped, seemingly struggling to form words with Ron still pushing all his weight onto the smaller boy, “He’s Malfoy, and I’m Hermione. We were cursed like this that night we were moving you, Harry. Please, you have to believe us.”

Harry crossed his arms in thought, still sceptical. This was far too elaborate to be some sort of joke, not that Hermione would ever allow such a cruel one like this to ever happen if she had the choice, and though he knew of the possibility of Polyjuice being in the mixed it just seemed unlikely that it was the case here. And besides, how would Malfoy know of them moving him from Privet Drive? Yet, this could be some kind of trick…

“Ok,” he said finally, staring imploringly at the boy, “If you are Hermione, then tell me, what protected the Philosopher’s Stone?

Without missing a beat, Malfoy answered in a rush, “There were seven; Fluffy, Devil’s snare, the Flying Keys, the Human Chess Game, the Mountain Troll, the Potion riddle – which was brilliant by the way, since a lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, and the last one was the Mirror of Erised.”

By the time the boy had finished speaking, Ron had taken a hesitant step back, eyeing him critically just like Harry had done earlier. Malfoy – or Hermione? let out a relieved breath, but didn’t move from her position as she scrubbed furiously at her eyes now that she could move again.

Harry stood frozen, unable to believe what he was hearing. Hermione couldn’t be trapped as that git Malfoy, surely. That would be utterly ridiculous, even in a world of magic! Yet, she had answered the security question perfectly, in such a Hermione way that it was impossible not to believe it and also there was no way that Malfoy could have ever known all that information.

Pressing his lip into a thin line, he surveyed the two people in front of him, the girl was standing with her arms folded defensively with a scowl so out of place on her face, while the boy was visibly upset, taking deep shuddering breaths but still held his head high as if daring Harry and Ron to tell him he’s wrong.

There was no doubt in Harry’s mind, “Alright. I believe you.”

“Oh Harry – “

“Please Malf – Hermione, this is a lot to take in.”

“Yeah,” Ron butted in faintly, looking back and forth between Malfoy and Hermione, “Is this some kind of joke? Please tell me it’s a joke.”

Malfoy sneered, starling Harry as it was Hermione’s face doing it but it was such a typical Malfoy trait it was disturbing, “Yes, Weasel. This is all an elaborate practical joke. Merlin, I knew you were dumb, but not even Longbottom is this slow on the uptake.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Clever comeback, Weasley. Did you come up with that one all by yourself?”

It was amazing that Ron hadn’t jumped the Slytherin yet, even if he looked like Hermione. Harry knew the redhead had become very much in love with the girl of the last year, but that never stopped them from butting heads and certainly shouldn’t stop him from at the very least defend himself from Malfoy’s usual nastiness.

Harry sighed, knowing it would be up to him to stop them from fighting as Hermione still seemed to be struggling to compose herself from the beating. A wave of guilt hit him but he quickly squashed it, telling himself that one crisis at a time was more than enough, “Guys, quit it. There’s no point – “

A sudden burning pain in his scar sent Harry crumbling to the floor with a cry in pain. The world around him faded away only to be replace by the vision of a large shadow that was accompanied by a fury that was not his own pounding through his body, violent and brief as an electric shock.

In an instant, Ron is at his side, grabbing Harry by the shoulder, “What did you see? Did you see him at my place?”

“No,” Harry gasped, struggling with gathering and separating himself from Voldemort’s fury, “No, I just felt anger – he’s really angry – “

“But that could be at the Burrow!” said Ron loudly, “What else? Didn’t you see anything?”

“No, I just felt anger, I didn’t –,” Harry staggered to his feet, Ron helping him stand but continuing with his badgering.

Rubbing his scar, Harry felt confused and angry from the vision, and it didn’t help as Hermione spoke quietly from the corner, “Is it your scar again? I thought you had closed that connection.”

“I did, for a while,” Harry muttered, finding it difficult to talk frankly to his friend when she looked so much like the enemy, “It’s just, I think it opens again, when he loses control. That’s how it used to happen before.”

Hermione stared at him, her now silvery eyes penetrating and turbulent with emotion, “You need to close your mind, Harry. Use Occlumency. Dumbledore didn’t want –,”

“I don’t care what Dumbledore would have wanted!” said Harry, all the events of the evening catching up to him, only making him angrier and more confused. He didn’t want to be reminded of his dead Headmaster, who might have just used him this whole time, nor did he want Hermione to remind of exactly why he needed to practice Occlumency in the first place. Especially when they were in Grimmauld Place, which made those memories feel fresh and more hurtful.

His friends and Malfoy had fallen silent, and he could feel their eyes on him. He sighed, knowing they – well, two to of them, only meant well and that Ron was worried about his family.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m just… It’s been a long night.”

Ron just nodded quietly in agreement and looked down at the floor, probably finding it difficult to look at the two people standing before them as well.   

There was another awkward silence, before Hermione pushed herself off the wall, taking a hesitant step forward as if aware of their reluctance to acknowledge her as she was now, “What happened? Is everyone okay?” she asked, Draco Malfoy’s voice sounding surprisingly soft as she spoke.

“We don’t know,” shrugged Harry, and took another deep breath, “Voldemort, he –,”

Then Hermione shrieked, and Harry drew his wand and spun around to see a silver Patronus soar through the entrance door and land on the floor in front of them. It quickly materialised into the shape of a weasel that spoke with the voice of Mr. Weasley, “Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.”

The Patronus dissolved into nothingness, and Harry could hear Ron let out a noise between a whimper and a groan, “They’re alright. Bloody hell, they’re alright. They’re okay.”

Ron half laughed, and stepped towards Malfoy in what looked like an embrace, but the Slytherin withdrew quickly with a sneer, and the red-head seemed to remember himself and grimaced, “Right, uh… this will take some time getting used to…”

He stood there awkwardly for a second, before he turned to Harry, “Harry, I –,”

“It’s not a problem,” said Harry quickly, the ill feeling from his vision only becoming worse and making him feel sick, “It’s your family. Of course you were worried.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Harry felt their interaction being watched and realised that neither Hermione nor Malfoy knew what had happened just hours earlier. He knew he should fill them in, or at least fill Hermione in, on what had happened the last few days, but the sick feeling was getting worse and he heard himself saying, “I’m going to bed.”

Hermione and Ron looked at him worriedly, but didn’t comment as he pushed past them to the stairs. He glanced at Malfoy as he passed, but the Slytherin was intently staring down at the floor as he walked by as if he was aware that his presence there wasn’t welcome.

 _Good,_ Harry thought and staggered up the stairs _, let the guilt eat away at him._

“Harry,” said Malfoy’s voice, and Harry was about to turn around to spit an insult right before he remembered that it was Hermione speaking, “Tomorrow, I think we need to talk.”

Harry looked briefly over his shoulder and met the blonde boy’s bright, silver eyes, and he gave a sharp nod, “Yeah. Alright.”

Hermione smiled faintly at Harry, and Harry found himself smiling reluctantly back before he turned and trudged up the stairs to find an abandoned bedroom where he could succumb to Voldemort’s visions in peace.

...

The next morning Harry found himself sitting at the kitchen table along with Malfoy in tense silence. The Slytherin was carefully cradling a small cup of tea in that ghastly china that reminded Harry too much of Aunt Petunia, and was determinedly ignoring Harry as Hermione had gone to try get Ron out of bed.

It was a weird feeling, Harry thought as he viewed the imagine in front of him, to know that the girl sitting across the table was supposed to be his close, compassionate and bright friend Hermione Granger, but inside were Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and git extraordinaire.

Harry frowned, taking a sip of his own tea as he studied the Slytherin; like last night he noticed his dishevelled appearance which he now attributed to the refusal to wash or get undressed, and Harry could understand that as a guy himself that the particular experience could be scarring but also feel downright wrong – not that Malfoy had any sense of right or wrong, but it must feel so incredibly intrusive and horrible to do all those usual, everyday things when you were another person, no matter who that person was. But especially, if not ten times worse, if that person was the opposite gender.  

In a way, he felt kind of sorry for them both.

“Would you quit staring, Potter,” muttered Malfoy, sounding uncomfortable which was unusual for Malfoy.

Harry’s frown deepened, wondering what was bothering the Slytherin so much that he refrained from spitting his usual snarkiness, “Something wrong?”

Malfoy set down his mug of tea onto the table with a resounding bang, “Why do you give a fuck? You seemed more than happy to beat the shit out of me last night.”

It wasn’t that Harry cared about Malfoy. He knew he didn’t, but he felt the worry he felt towards Hermione gnaw at him, as if his mind refused to feel the hate he reserved for Malfoy towards the bushy haired girl the scene presented him with.

Just then Hermione walked in with a sulky Ron in tow, and Harry felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to attempt to explain to the already sulky Slytherin his complex and confused sense of caring towards the body he was currently occupying.

“Morning,” Ron grouched as he sat down heavily in the chair next to Harry, sending a glare at Hermione’s back which was hunched over the kettle sitting on the stove.

“Rough awakening” said Harry causally and took another sip of his tea, easily dismissing the previous tension in the room now that his friends were here with him.

Ron mumbled something intangible, earning him an indignant huff from Hermione who slammed a cup of that ugly china in front of the red-head.

“Milk and two sugars,” she snapped at him and sat down onto her own chair with a lot more grace than Ron at the head of the table, “Now that Ronald is out of bed, I think we should debrief what has happened with each of us the last few days.”

The boys murmured in agreement, not daring to argue with Hermione when she was in one of those moods.

She nodded, “Right, good. You started saying something last night, Harry…?”

Harry didn’t particularly want to consider the last few days in too much detail if he could help it, but knowing Hermione she would want to know every single one of them so she could store it in that big brain of hers for a later date.

“Yeah, well, as you know, the plan to –,”

“Wait,” said Ron, having finally woken up enough to realise what was going on around him and cutting Harry off, “Why is _he_ allowed to be here? He shouldn’t be hearing this!”

Harry considered this and found that he quite agreed with his friend. Malfoy might look like Hermione right now, and maybe Harry had felt sympathy for him for _a second_ , but he was still a Death Eater which made any information about Order business valuable information to him.

“Maybe not,” said Hermione curtly, “But he should be here to help in fill in details about what happened with the two of us. Besides, we can always obliviate him if we have to.” 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and glared at her, “Cold, aren’t you?”

She shrugged in response and turned back to Harry, not waiting to hear any more protests, “What were you saying, Harry?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, but decided that Hermione was right. Also, it meant keeping the peace for now, even though he could blurrily see Ron scowl angrily in his peripheral vision.

“Yes. Well…”

And Harry told what had happened since that day they were moving him from Number Four Privet Drive to last night after the wedding. He told them about her disappearing during the move, and how Remus, Tonks, Moody and Kingsley along with some other Order members had rushed off in a flurry of robes to rescue her but had returned empty-handed, only reassuring Ron and Harry of Hermione’s safety but never telling what had happened to her or where she was. He told them about the way Mrs. Weasley badgered them for days about the wedding, which had been cut short by Kingsley’s Patronus had suddenly appeared telling them that the Ministry had fallen and Scrimgeour was dead, and the Death Eaters were coming. Everyone had scattered in panic, and him and Ron had barely had time to apparate out of there. Harry had taken them to Tottenham Court road, but the Death Eaters had somehow known they were there and attacked, which lead Harry and Ron to flee to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

“… and you know the rest,” Harry finished, feeling exhausted from reliving the events in his mind. He had purposely left out the details of Scrimgeour’s visit with Dumbledore’s bequests, his chat with Aunt Muriel about Bathilda Bagshot and his vision of Voldemort’s search for Gregorovitch, knowing that it was too sensitive information to bring up in front of Malfoy. Hermione was often right but Harry had to disagree with her on this one, and he knew she would concur once she heard what information he had been hiding without the presence of a certain ferret.

“I see,” answered Hermione, her head downcast as she twiddled with her fingers, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help. I’m glad your family’s all safe though, Ron.”

“Yeah, we got lucky,” said Ron quietly, obviously finding this interaction just as strange as Harry was.

“I suppose we should tell you what happened to us now,” sighed Hermione, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

Harry had to admit that he was curious as to what kind of magic could cause such a thing like this, and what the two had been doing for the past four days.

“I still don’t understand why I have to be here,” said Draco sourly, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms, “You probably remember everything for the two of us anyway with that obnoxiously gigantic brain of yours.”

“Well, I have to make do with your much smaller, less developed boy brain, so God knows how many details I will leave out.”

Malfoy scowled and sank further down in his chair, “Just tell the fucking story, Granger.”

“I was about to, if you just were quiet for a second!” said Hermione, sounding uncharacteristically annoyed even for her.

Harry stared at the two, completely taken by surprise by the interaction. They seemed to have gotten on well enough last night, but now the strain and tension was shining through the cracks and if Harry had to guess the last four days had not been a walk on sunshine between Hermione and Malfoy.

Hermione seemed to take a moment to compose herself, pinching the bridge of her nose as she blatantly ignored the dirty looks Malfoy kept shooting her way, “As I was trying to say before I was interrupted, the details of everything is a bit blurred together. After the Death Eaters found us and shot down the Thestral, they brought me to Malfoy Manor. They tortured me, Bellatrix having easily recognised me as ‘Potter’s Mudblood friend’, but it didn’t last long before Snape came in bringing Draco…”

Harry intently listened to Hermione’s story, feeling torn between anger and absolute bewilderment. He firmly believed that she wasn’t pulling their leg and was telling the truth, but somehow it all seemed so improbable and ridiculous that Harry wanted to laugh at the absurdity but also give Remus and Moody a serious piece of his mind for keeping this from him. Why didn’t they think this was important to mention? Oh by the way Harry, Hermione is unfortunately trapped in the body of your school rival and enemy for seven years, but she’s okay.

“And ever since they left we’ve been locked up here,” said Hermione, glancing uncertainly over at Malfoy who looked incredibly bored with the whole tale.

“So, what have you been doing for the past days?” asked Ron suspiciously, and Harry wanted to scold him for being paranoid but then quickly remembered that the scolding was Hermione’s job.

“Oh, don’t be disgusting Ronald,” she said, her face twisting into a grimace, “Like I’d ever touch Malfoy, even if he looks like me at the moment.”

Malfoy seemed personally offended by the notion as well, “Yes, _Ronald_ , like I’d ever be interested in your know-it-all girlfriend. Besides, we have been actively avoided each other the whole time, so don’t you worry about your precious – Merlin, will you sit still!”

“I can’t help that you have a bony arse!” Hermione complained loudly as she shifted on her chair, “Seriously, what’s wrong with your body? It shouldn’t be this uncomfortable to just sit!”

Malfoy looked like he was about to interrupt but Hermione went on resolutely, “and while we’re on the topic, why am I constantly cold and hungry? Do you not have _any_ bodyfat at all?!”

By the end of her rant, Harry, Ron and Malfoy shared a look and for a brief second Harry felt the three of them were united against a common enemy; Hermione Granger’s anger at anything outside of her understanding. In this case, Malfoy’s skinny arse apparently.

Harry had to admit he knew and understood the inconvenience she was talking about, but he was not about to contribute with his opinion when he knew it wasn’t wanted.

Unfortunately for Malfoy he didn’t know Hermione as well as Harry and Ron did, “Are you serious?! That is what is bothering you about this? There are a thousand things you could and should worry about here, and this is what you chose? You got to get your priorities sorted, Granger.”

He stood up from his chair with a huff, obviously with the intention to leave but Hermione wasn’t done with him, “Yes, I choose to worry about this, because otherwise I’ll drive myself mad about the fact that it’s been _four days_ and we are no closer to being back to normal!”

“You don’t think I know that?” Malfoy hissed furiously, “I’ve been locked up here with you, Granger! I’m filthy from not showering and I’m tired from not sleeping properly, and it makes me constantly sick to think about that I’m trapped in _your_ body for Merlin knows how long! You keep forgetting that you are not the only victim here!”

By the end of the rant Malfoy was shouting at Hermione, whose eyes were shining with anger, and Harry knew he had to step in before this took an ugly turn, “Shut up, both of you! I understand this is difficult, but –,”

“Difficult?! That’s the understatement of the century, Potter! Are you bloody blind or what!”

Ron jumped from his chair in protest, but Harry grabbed him by the sleeve and shook his head at the redhead. As much as he knew Ron wanted to punch Malfoy in the nose like the git deserved, and Harry wanted to do very much the same, they couldn’t while the Slytherin was in Hermione’s body. It would have to wait until later.

“I was trying to suggest that we could all help looking into this. The library here is massive, surely there are some information on body-switching or transmutation or whatever this is?” asked Harry and glanced over at Hermione, knowing she had most likely spent the last few days holed up in there searching for any sort of data on the topic.

The girl bit her lip and nodded hesitantly, her brows still furred, “Yeah. I found a few, but haven’t had much time to go through them.”

“Good, then we’ll start there,” said Harry and stood up, feeling himself sliding into the unwanted yet natural role of leader.

Ron’s eyes widened comically, “What, now? Don’t we have… other stuff to do?”

“I think this is more important right now. Now come on, we should get started,” said Harry and started leading the way out of the kitchen, “That includes you too, Malfoy!”

Harry could only hear an angry groan in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a life for itself. I had quite a solid plan in my head, but my writing completely strayed from that. Not sure how I feel about it yet, but it is what it is for now. You might notice some plot holes here and there, but I assure you, most of them are completely intentional. Also, extra long chapter! Yay!  
> The next chapter will be in Draco's POV.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> :-)


	5. We'll all Float on Okay

The large grandfather clock was ticking loudly in the corner, its’ arms showing that it was already six o’clock in the evening. Draco glared at it over the large tome resting in his lap. The room was quiet save for that incessant ticking noise from the clock and it was grating on Draco’s already frayed nerves. The Golden trio was sitting scattered around the small library with their own books but none of them seemed bothered by the sound, though Weasley looked bored beyond belief where he was sitting.

For once, Draco could sympathise with the boy and huffed annoyedly as he shifted uncomfortably in the plush armchair he was sitting in. The book he was reading was practically crushing him and Granger’s weak little body was tired from propping it up for so long. He didn’t understand how she wasn’t ripped yet, as he always saw her carrying many more, larger books around in her bookbag at Hogwarts.

He shifted again and finally found a more comfortable position curled up, his legs dangling off the side of the chair. He was thankful that Granger had been wearing trousers before they’d swapped, otherwise she’d surely be scolding him right now for sitting inappropriately in a skirt, though he sorely wished for a bath and some clean clothes.

After their argument that first day at the house he’d purposefully locked himself up in the room he’d first woken up in, only coming out to eat and use the bathroom. He’d actively avoided Granger, who seemed to have thought along similar lines as him by shutting herself inside the library, but then again that could also be just regular Granger-behaviour.

Draco glanced over at the girl trapped in his body. He looked terrible, since she had done the same as him and not done as they’d agreed to; taking care of each other’s bodies. He couldn’t blame her though. Their situation was entirely too bizarre and disturbing, and would leave anyone feeling helpless and incapable of action. They should be working together on this, but that option seemed to have gone down the drain before they’d even properly tried. If he was honest with himself he knew it was probably his fault, his anger getting the better of him as usual.

Sighing, he turned another page of his book. The title read, _‘The Purpose and Magical Properties of the Subconscious, Chapter 7: So you Want to Sleep with your Mother?_ ’, and Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. This book was definitely another bust.

“This one’s useless,” he declared, adding it to the growing pile of waste of time sitting next to him. Eyes snapped to him and he could feel Weasley’s and Potter’s glares attempting to dig into the side of his head. Normally it wouldn’t have bothered him but for some reason it made something within him stir unpleasantly, as if Granger’s body reacted negatively to their hate directed at it.

Suddenly feeling the need to leave, Draco got up from his chair as casually as he could manage and stretched, feeling the joints in his hips pop into place from sitting for so long, “Well, this has been lovely, top notch, really. But I’m going to go now.”

Potter stood up as well, his glare persistent and suspicious, “I don’t like you walking around by yourself in my house, Malfoy. Especially not while in Hermione’s body.”

Draco laughed hollowly, the ignorant comment surprisingly hurtful, “You say that as if we chose this, Potter. Trust me, we didn’t. I’d rather not be trapped like this, and I’d rather not be trapped in your house, but here we are. Besides, I’ve been walking around unsupervised for the past few days, I don’t see why it matters.”

It looked like Potter was about to retort from the way his mouth twisted angrily, but Granger shut her book with a snap, effectively cutting him off, “I’ll go with him.” They all looked at her in various states of surprise and she shuffled uncomfortably, “What? It’s difficult to concentrate, alright?”

“There’s no way you’re going with Malfoy by yourself. He’s dangerous!” said Potter, gesturing towards Draco who crossed his arms annoyedly at the boy. He didn’t understand why Potter cared so much that he was there, it wasn’t like he could do anything.

Granger thought apparently the exact same thing, as she huffed at Potter, “What is he going to do? Kick me? He doesn’t have a wand, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Hell no, he doesn’t,” Weasley snickered from his seat, obviously finding the situation amusing.

Understanding immediately what the redhead was implying, Draco felt his face heat up with humiliation, but instead of the usual anger that would normally follow, his throat tightened and his eyes stung in response.

“Go fuck yourself, Weasley,” Draco spat, quickly spinning on his heel and storming out of the library before they could see the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Malfoy, wait!”

Draco could hear fast footsteps chasing him down the hallway, but he refused to turn around and talk to whoever the fuck thought it was a good idea to follow him when he was in such an obviously foul mood.

“Malfoy, seriously, will you stop?” Oh great, it’s Granger, “What in God’s name is your problem!”

Turning around, he snarled at her, “My problem? You know exactly what my problem is, Granger! Or is Weasley’s stupidity contagious now?”

Instead of yelling back at him like he had expected, Granger stared at him wide-eyed as she said quietly, “Why are you crying?”

“W – what?” Draco had been so upset that he hadn’t noticed that large, fresh tears were flowing freely down his cheeks until then. He lifted a shaking hand and gingerly touched his face, his fingertips becoming wet from the droplets, “I didn’t – I…” 

“It’s alright,” she said carefully, raising her hands non-threateningly. She looked like she might try to do something stupid, like hug him or something, but only his Mother was allowed to do that. The thought of his Mother and what she was doing sent a fresh wave of sadness through him. Feeling ashamed of his unruly emotions and that Granger was seeing him like this, he hid his face in his hands as an ugly sob escaped him.

“Draco…” Granger murmured gently, laying a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” he hiccupped bitterly, but the protest sounded weak and broken even to his own ears. Why couldn’t he stop crying?

Granger complied none the less, “Okay. Do you want to get out of the hallway at least?”

Nodding, Draco let himself be lead upstairs, all the while Granger muttered to herself about boys being mean and insensitive.

He finally managed to stop the tears from flowing down his face, only weak sobs still making him shudder now and then. Draco felt terrible and utterly exhausted, drained from the inexplicable bout of crying he’d just experienced. It was a similar feeling to that one he often had in their sixth year, when the strain had often gotten the better of him but then it had been a matter of life or death, not about some pathetic stab at his masculinity from Weasley.

Scrubbing his face with his hands to get rid of the last few tears, Draco exhaled shakily, earning him a glance from Granger.

“How are you feeling?”

The question took Draco by surprise and was suspiciously considerate coming from Granger, but he saw only honest concern in her eyes.

“Fine,” he answered, sniffing, “I don’t know what happened. I’ve never reacted like that to one of Weasley’s pathetic insults before.”

Granger looked like she might reprimand him by the way her mouth pressed into a thin line, but she simply shrugged, “Yeah, well, Ron can be a bit of an idiot sometimes. It might just be my body that’s reacting badly to it. Also, it’s scientifically proven that girls cry more so,”

“Oh,” Draco responded intelligently, suddenly feeling awkward with this temporarily truce formed between them based on Weasley’s ability to be a massive twat.

“You’ll feel better if you take a bath.”

Draco blinked uncomprehendingly up at Granger, “You’re okay with that?”

“Sure,” said Granger sounding completely casual and relaxed, even though her tense shoulders told Draco otherwise. He was so desperate to get clean though, that he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, but then again, he felt like he should return the favour somehow.

“Uh… same, by the way,”

“What?”

“Like, get a shower or bath or whatever. I don’t care,” Draco shuffled uncomfortably, not used to having to act nice. It wasn’t behaviour Father encouraged, and so Draco had never really learned or cared for it. He usually got by on his status as a Malfoy and Slytherins only understood the value of power and manipulation, so being nice had always been redundant in his house at Hogwarts.

Despite that though, Granger smiled faintly, “Thanks. Come on, I’ll help you draw the bath and find some clean clothes for you.”

Turns out that Granger’s bossiness was due to her incredible practicality in any given situation, as she instructed Draco to sit and wait while she filled up the tub to the brim and summoned a small, beaded bag to her side. As much as Draco wanted to complain about being made to wait like a child, the mysterious handbag peaked his curiosity more than the need to whine, so he sat obediently and watched while Granger dug through it, her whole arm disappearing through its’ opening.

“Oh, woops, not that one… not Spellman’s Syllabary… Ah, here,” She said and pulled out a light blue toiletry pouch, “There should be shampoo and conditioner in there, as well as some other products if you need them.”

She handed it to Draco, who looked down into it confused. Inside was an assortment of bottles and tubes, most of which he didn’t recognise and some he’d seen Pansy use from time to time, but all of which he didn’t know the purpose of except the soaps and hair-gel.

While Draco had inspected the content of the pouch, Granger had managed to pull out several pieces of neatly folded, colourful muggle clothing and placed them on the bunker by the sink, “Just change into these when you’re done – and don’t, you know…” She shifted nervously, “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything,”

“Granger, I –,”

Pausing in the doorway, she looked over her shoulder at him, “Yes?”

“Thanks,”

She smiled carefully, “You’re welcome,” 

And she left, leaving Draco to his own devices. He didn’t know why the thought of taking a bath bothered him so much, though he couldn’t seem to quite trust himself these days either. He shuddered, thinking back to his breakdown in the hallway over some pathetic comment that Weasley had made. It was such a weird reaction since he’d normally just spit something ten times more vicious right back at the boy, but this body seemed to react entirely different; instead of reacting with anger, it became distressed and upset. And though the comment had been hurtful, it was far from the worst insult he’d received in his lifetime.

Opting for not thinking more about it right now, Draco approached the warm bath waiting for him, letting his fingertips grace the hot surface. A shiver ran through him, as goosebumps rose along Granger’s slim arms. He could see the pale hairs standing up on the skin sticking out from under the jumper he was wearing, and it reminded him that baths usually required the person to be undressed.

Draco gulped, suddenly feeling anxious. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen naked girls before, he used to be quite popular back in Hogwarts after all, but it was just the prospect of that naked girl being him that bothered him. Seeing Granger’s reflection staring back at him wide-eyed and terrified every time he caught a glance of himself in the mirror was bad enough and already felt like an intrusion of privacy. Undressing her body in comparison, no matter how innocent the intention was, had just felt so wrong.  He kept telling himself that it was because the idea of seeing Hogwarts’ most obnoxious Mudblood naked disgusted him beyond belief, but deep down he knew that it was all because seeing himself fully as Hermione Granger like that would make this all the more horrifyingly real.

Taking another deep breath, he steeled himself. He just wouldn’t look, that’s it, he told himself, as he slowly started undressing. First the jumper, then the trousers. Piece by piece, more skin was exposed to the cold room, all the while he kept his eyes firmly trained on the wall above the bathtub.

When there was nothing left to remove, he slowly guided himself into the tub until he was completely submerged before he let himself relax though he kept his eyes skywards as to not catch a glimpse of himself in the transparent water.

Sighing to himself, he grabbed the toiletries she’d left behind for him and decided that shampoo and conditioner would have to be good enough, because he couldn’t make head or tails of the others. Making quick work of Granger’s bush of a hair and only tangling his fingers in it twice, he dunked his head underwater to get rid of the excess soap. He knew he should probably be more thorough with the cleaning since Granger’s body hadn’t been properly washed in quite a few days, but this would have to do for now. Attempting to wash her ridiculously long, curly hair, which he’d just discovered was surprisingly soft, had been more than enough effort thank you.

Finally allowing himself to relax, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, enjoying the feeling of warm water soaking his skin as Granger’s mass of hair fanned out around him. He felt so drained with everything that was happening but had to admit that Granger knew what she was talking about, a bath had helped on his turbulent emotions.

Draco didn’t know how long he had been laying in the tub, his mind drifting pleasantly and unconcerned for a while as the water soothed his tense muscles. It wasn’t until he felt his fingertips pruning that he pushed himself out of the tub, water slouching around and spilling over the sides as he stepped onto the cold floor.

Looking around for a towel he could use, he was met with exactly what he had wanted to avoid in the mirror; Granger stared back at him, the same horrified expression he’d seen on her face for the past days, only now he felt it was entirely justified, as he involuntarily looked down at the reflection to see her bare, exposed skin, still pink from the hot bath. Glancing down at himself he saw that it all matched with the mirror, and he felt sick as inexplicable panic rose within him. His mind started racing as the panic grabbed a tight hold of it, telling him again and again about the wrongness of the situation, how this body was wrong, this wasn’t him. He was a seventeen-year-old boy who was five-foot-nine, with short blonde hair and a penis, not a girl with long, curly hair that reached past her shoulders and with small breasts that rounded and tightened in the cold.

Before he knew it he was hunched over the toilet, the contents of his stomach emptying itself into the toilet bowl. Draco felt his throat – Granger’s throat turn raw with misuse as he vomited, but he wasn’t in control of his actions anymore as a shameless sob escaped him when he started dry-heaving. Her long hair brushed his face gently as he hunched over the old porcelain, probably getting some vomit in it in the process, but he was too distressed to care.

This was all too much; he was being kept prisoner by people who he’d tormented for years and hated him, and he was trapped in a body that belonged to one of them, maybe the one who had all the reason to hate him the most. Worst of all was that it was such an unfamiliar, alien body to him, so wrong on so many levels, in the way it moved, spoke, was perceived – fuck, how it went to the bathroom! And what if this wasn’t reversible? What if –

“Malfoy?” he heard being whispered from the doorway, and he looked up to see Potter standing there with wide eyes filled with alarm and horror.

The panic quickly turned to rage and embarrassment as Draco realised the state Potter was seeing him in. It was too alike a similar situation where Potter had caught him crying in the bathroom and that had ended terribly, but in a way, this was also so much worse as he now felt so completely exposed and defenceless in Granger’s naked body.

“Get out,” spat Draco icily, huddling up to hopefully save some of Granger’s dignity. “Potter, get the fuck out, now.”

“I – uh,” Potter stuttered unintelligently, his face reddening while looking around wildly for help, “Shit, I’m sorry! Uh, are you okay, or –,”

“Potter, get the fuck out! Now!” screamed Draco at the other boy, who scrambled around clumsily before sprinting down the hallway in an attempt to escape.

At least seeing Granger nude had been enough to prevent Potter from cutting him open with a curse this time, Draco thought sourly and stood on shaky legs, quickly wrapping himself up in a towel he found in the cupboard under the sink. It was old and dusty, and probably filthier than the clothes he had been wearing, but it was preferable to having to see Granger’s naked reflection in the mirror again, or Merlin forbid, that Weasley would walk in on him too.

Suppressing another sob threatening to escape him, Draco focused on the matter at hand and dressed with a speed that must have been some kind of record, easily slipping into the clothes Granger had given him. He was grateful that she’d opted for no bra for him, and instead went with a simple vest and a forest green knitted jumper, along with trousers and knickers.

Having fully dressed Draco felt a bit better, a bit more protected from reality. He glanced at himself in the mirror again, and though it was still terrifying to see Granger’s face staring back at him he’d decided it wasn’t half as bad as seeing her completely bare. He could cope with this.  

Picking up the discarded pouch with toiletries by the tub, he fished out a large hairbrush and started working his way through Granger’s long, tangled mess of a hair. It hurt and he kept tearing out bits of hair every time he hit a particularly difficult knot in there.

Draco growled to himself, humiliation and anger towards Potter and this whole situation still coiling in the pit of his stomach, making him comb more furiously through the hair. A particular difficult knot caught, and tore out a large clump of hair,

“Ow, shit! Fuck!”

He threw the comb in the sink and glared at his reflection – Granger’s reflection. It was a familiar look, one he’d seen on her many of times, in fact every time she’d as much as glanced in his direction, “Why does it have to be you?” he hissed at her, “I hate you so fucking much, so why does it have to be _you_!”

In a moment of clarity, he realised that was exactly why it was her that Bellatrix and Voldemort had chosen as his punishment. This wasn’t some sort of elaborate plan to have him become a spy or anything like that – which he had considered the possibility of while he laid awake at night. No, this was just a cruel joke, a true punishment to have him become what he hated most, and strip him of his blood-purity and masculinity. Although a lot had been left to pure chance, they would have eventually caught her somehow as she couldn’t hide for long when she was always at the Chosen One’s side.

Feeling dizzy, Draco pushed at the bathroom door and hurried into the hallway, feeling the strange need to tell Granger about his sudden realisation.

“Granger!” he shouted as he looked for her in every damn room down the hallway, but they were all empty. He gritted his teeth and ran downstairs, reasoning that she’d probably returned to the dunderheads she called friends. He came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the staircase when he heard people talking with raised voices in the kitchens.

“Harry, I know you think it’s important, but you knew Dumbledore better than Rita Skeeter or Muriel. I’m sorry, but we can’t be spending valuable time chasing rumours.”

It was horrific how sympathetic and motherly Granger could make his voice sound like. Father had always made sure that Draco spoke with authority and demand, drilling into him that it was the only way to get what you wanted and move forward and up in the world. Granger just completely obliterated that reputation he’d worked so hard for by showing that he _cared_.

He was about to push open the door to the kitchen to interrupt when Potter said something that made him halt in his steps, “We’re wasting valuable time sitting around right now! We are nowhere near getting any closer to finding any of the Horcruxes – fuck sake, we don’t even know who R.A.B. is yet, and that’s our only clue right now!”

Draco frowned thoughtfully. Why did those things sound so familiar? Searching his memory, he faintly remembered seeing the word Horcrux in a book in the Malfoy library in the summer before his second year at Hogwarts, though Father had confiscated it immediately so he didn’t remember much beyond thinking it had been a funny word. As for the other –

“Eavesdropping are we now, Malfoy?”

Draco jumped in fright, not having realised that the kitchen door had opened to reveal an angry redhead, with Granger peering curiously over Weasley’s shoulder. He scoffed at the boy, “No, but even if I was it wouldn’t have mattered. All that ever comes out of your mouth is either drivel or slugs anyway, both equally disgusting might I add.”

Weasley looked thunderous and turned to Granger who was standing behind him, “Did you hear that! Aren’t you going to say anything!?”

Granger, who appeared a lot fresher-looking, with clean, unruly hair and unsullied clothes which Draco didn’t recognise and definitely wasn’t his based on the obvious muggle quality of them, raised her hands defensively, “Yes, I did hear him. I don’t see why I should take the responsibility for that however.”

 “Because he’s in your body right now! So talk to him, say something!”

“That doesn’t mean I’m in control of his actions, it’s not like it’s me saying those things!” said Granger, her own temper evidently rising along with Weasley’s.

Draco had to admit that Granger had a very good point there. It wasn’t like he liked the way she strutted around all girly and friendly, but here they were and there was nothing they could do about it until the Werewolf returned with some news that’d better be fucking tremendous, or he might start crying again.

“It might as well be!” Weasley was yelling now, his arms indicating fervently between Draco and Granger, “Do you know how difficult it is to differentiate between the two of you?”

The entire room’s atmosphere seemed to suddenly drop by several degrees, Granger’s whole demeanour turning frosty, “Difficult. For you. Are you _fucking_ serious right now, Ronald?”

Draco didn’t know how to express the utter surprise he was feeling. Him swearing wasn’t an unusual occurrence, far from it as he revelled in using slurs casually in conversation, but for _Granger_ to do so was rarer than sightings of a Crumble-Horned Snorkack.

Weasley was apparently as brave as he was dumb, “Well… yes! I mean, it’s terrible and all, but at least you don’t have to look at Malfoy’s face all the time!”

“Guys, stop arguing!” Potter finally seemed to have woken up from whatever coma he’d been in, interrupting the fight as it was just getting good in Draco’s opinion, “We have other things to deal with right now,” 

Weasley and Granger both complied with surprising, if not petulant, obedience, as if them arguing like this was a common thing. Draco remembered in fourth year how Weasley and Potter had fallen out for months and how it had been seemed so dramatic back then, but their reaction right now indicated that this happened all the time. Maybe the Golden Trio wasn’t the well-oiled machine that they always appeared to be after all. Draco made sure to commit this piece of useful information to memory.

Even though it might have settled between the friends, it seemed that Weasley wasn’t quite done lashing out yet, “Well, tell that to Malfoy who’s skulking about! Where has he been anyway? It’s been like an hour, and we have no idea what he’s been up to!”

“He was taking a bath, like I’ve done,” Granger bit out, her anger with Weasley still blatantly obvious, “And before you say anything, Ron, I told him to. So don’t start.”

The redhead turned violet then, giving Draco a murderous look that made something within Draco shift uncomfortably before Weasley stomped away, muttering to himself. Granger watched as Weasley stormed off with a hopeless expression on her face, before giving Draco an unreadable look and ran after him.

Draco was suddenly all too aware that she’d unknowingly left him alone with one of her best friends that had just seen her body completely in the nude, and Draco felt a blush spread across his face as the humiliating incidence replayed in his head with too much clarity.  

He was about to yell after Granger to come back when he felt Potter’s emerald green gaze boring into him. “What?” snapped Draco angrily, feeling defensive and uncertain as he wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he could expect from Potter now that they’d had another disturbing run-in in a bathroom.

The boy shrugged, as if he’d simply forgotten the whole ordeal, “Ron does have a point. Were you eavesdropping?”

Potter seriously wasn’t going to address this issue? thought Draco furiously, like it just hadn’t happened, and then accuse him of sniffing around like some pathetic spy? Well, if Potter wasn’t going to talk about it Draco sure wasn’t either. He could be cool about it too.

Draco crossed his arms protectively and glared at Potter, “I wasn’t, if you have to know. I was looking for Granger actually.”

“Right,” said Potter, sounding doubtful and crossing his own arms, “And so you just happened to stand outside the door without hearing anything? Makes sense, Malfoy.”

Groaning, Draco realised that Potter wasn’t going to let this one go until he admitted that he’d overhead them talking. It wasn’t like the words meant much to him anyways, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Potter! Fine, I did hear you for a bit. I was genuinely just looking for Granger, when I overheard something about Horcruxes, and Regulus, and –,”

“What was that?” Potter had gone deathly still, staring at him intently with wide eyes.

 Draco blinked confused, “Horcruxes? Regulus –,”

“Yes!”

It was as if it was Christmas morning the way Potter’s face lit up as Draco mentioned his Mother’s cousin, who had died long before Draco had been born. Narcissa had mentioned him at times when she reminisced about her childhood, and his name had appeared many times in Draco’s studies of the family three which his Father had insisted upon that Draco knew off by heart. Draco felt a faint, unexpected smile tug at the side of his mouth, but he quickly squashed it, wondering why he was smiling at Potter’s stupid, giddy excitement.

“Regulus Arcturus Black. That’s what R.A.B. stands for, most likely. He lived in this house actually,” Draco felt the words spew out of him uncontrollably before he could stop them, completely baffled with himself that he was revealing this apparently valuable information and helping Potter of all people.

“Oh my God,” Potter breathed, “Oh my God, Malfoy, you have no idea what…”

Draco started getting worried as the Boy-Who-Lived seemed to have finally lost his marbles, as his eyes wildly span back and forth in their sockets while he muttered to himself.

“Uh, Potter –,” started Draco hesitantly, just as Potter gave him the biggest fright of Draco’s young, immoral life; 

“KREACHER!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter! I struggled a bit with the build-up and the end, as I wasn't sure what direction I wanted to take it in. At least things will start happening a bit faster, and something will be revealed in the next chapter! 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry for any spelling- or grammatical errors, as I've been partially writing on my tablet again and this was written in a bit of a rush, so I will come back to it and correct any mistakes I've made. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudos and comments are always appreciated! 
> 
> B-)


	6. Don't Shoot the Messenger

Hermione was sitting by the large table in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen as she calmly sipped on her black, bitter coffee accompanied by pieces of dry toast. A small book was propped up in front of her, but she was struggling to grasp what it was about. The words seemed to blur together and she’d sometimes read a whole paragraph then realise that she couldn’t remember a single thing of what it had been about, her mind having wandered elsewhere in the meantime. 

She scrubbed at her eyes frustrated, wondering whether her newfound inattentiveness was a result of her being distraught about having been trapped in Malfoy’s body for a week now, or whether Malfoy was always this unfocused and struggled to concentrate. If that was the case, it wouldn’t surprise her as she’d found over the course of the last few days that Malfoy was a lot more restless than she was, his leg constantly bouncing with unreleased energy. Hermione felt herself get more annoyed and irritable with pent up energy for each day that passed, and she thought it explained a lot of Malfoy’s personality and explosive temper if he experienced this frequently. It didn’t make it excusable of course, but she felt it justified it somewhat.

The thought was unexpected, and Hermione frowned as it churned around in her head; was it possible to excuse Malfoy for all that he’d done? It had been so much over the years, both big and small awful, terrible things, though if Harry’s account of events were accurate then a fair few of them had been done out of fear for his family’s life. Hermione found that she couldn’t blame him for that, and neither did Harry who would have done anything to get to see his parents.

Hermione sighed and stared emptily at the book splayed open in front of her, her thoughts continuing to wander. There was no doubt in her mind that Draco Malfoy was deeply flawed human being with his rude, nasty personality and his malicious ways, but she’d discovered for the past few days that maybe there was more depth to him than she’d originally assumed.

“Morning ‘Mione,” yawned Harry as he trudged into the kitchen clad in his pyjamas.

He’d thanked her multiple times already for bringing some changes of clothes for him and Ron in her little bag that she’d brought with her when they left Privet Drive, along with all the essentials they would need for their horcrux hunting. Thankfully Harry had remembered to bring the invisibility cloak himself when they’d escaped from the Burrow, because that had been the only thing she felt like she’d been missing when she packed everything.

Of course, circumstances had taken an unexpected turn and now she wished she’d brought more changes of clothes that fitted Malfoy better, not the ones she’d originally brought for Ron and Harry which were ill-fitting both in height and size. It still baffled and worried her how uncomfortably thin Malfoy was, his ribs were too visible and his wrists were too delicate to belong to a seventeen-year old boy. She wondered if she should talk to him about it, but then again, they were far from on the best of terms and she’d hardly even seen him since he had revealed that R.A.B. had been Sirius’ brother.

“Good morning,” she greeted absently, her voice croaky from lack of use, “did you sleep well?”

Harry went over to the kettle to make himself a cup of coffee and take some toast, “As well as you could expect when Death Eaters are patrolling outside and Malfoy’s skulking about the house,”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on him, Harry. I just think he’s doing his best to cope,”

“It’s not that, Hermione. It’s just that… forget it,” said Harry resignedly, his shoulders slumping slightly, “I just don’t like having him here, alright. I know what you’re going to say, but having him around just bring up some unwanted memories and thoughts which I’d rather not dwell on.”

“Do you feel like that speaking with me now?” asked Hermione earnestly, her eyes lowering to look down at the pale, narrow hands she was now possessing, all too aware of the masculine voice that escaped her as she spoke.

Harry looked at her for a long time quietly, then nodded carefully, “I know what you said to Ron, about this being the most difficult for you and Malfoy. But I wonder if this was intentional, you know? If Voldemort somehow thought doing this to you would… never mind, it’s stupid,”

Hermione paled, “You think he knows what we’re up to? That he did this to stop us?”

Shrugging, Harry said, “I honestly don’t know. Maybe we should talk to Malfoy about this, he might have better insight… Speaking of, have you seen him? I can’t believe I’m actively seeking out that git but we should keep a closer eye on him at least.”

Hermione was about to respond that she’d not seen him any more than Harry had when there was a loud crash in the hallway outside the kitchen, followed by Ron going, “I’m okay!” as he entered the kitchen.

Harry and Hermione stared at him for a moment, both having jumped at the loud noise. Hermione hadn’t been aware how paranoid she felt now that they’d noticed the Death Eaters constantly keeping watch and patrolling outside, any noise setting her off.

“’orning,” muttered Ron, seemingly completely oblivious to their stiff postures as he grabbed a piece of toast and scarfed it down, “Say, how come Mrs. Black’s portrait hasn’t woken up a single time while we’ve been here?”

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Hermione shuffled guiltily in her seat and mumbled, “Oh, that? I might have magically glued the curtains shut with a strong binding charm.”

Honestly, it had been necessary. Malfoy kept tripping and making noise the first few days, and every single time Mrs. Black would wake up screaming about filth and traitors. It drove Hermione insane, and in the end she was so fed up with it that she researched a proper sticking charm that would stop the ghastly, horrible woman from interrupting Hermione’s reading once and for all. Malfoy kept tripping of course, though it seemed he did so a lot less these days. She knew why of course; her own centre of gravity being completely skewed from what she was used to too. Thankfully, if not disturbingly, she’d gotten mostly accustomed to it, only stumbling on her longer legs on rare occasions now.

“Tha’ brillian’, ‘Mione!” said Ron around a large mouthful of toast, making Hermione frown in disapproval but refraining from commenting. They’d already argued enough the past few days, Ron seeming even more irritated with her now that she was sporting Malfoy’s face.

“I’m surprised no one thought of it sooner to be honest, but I do suppose she serves a purpose by alerting if someone comes in. It’s just a shame she also alerts everyone within a 5-mile radius in the process,” said Hermione instead, taking another careful sip of her coffee. 

“Yes, I think that it was the intent of it. To some extent at least.”

Hermione, Harry and Ron sprang simultaneously out of their chairs at the sight of Remus standing in the kitchen’s doorway, looking more haggard than ever if possible.

“Remus!” exclaimed Harry, sounding just as surprised as Hermione felt, then raised his wand and aimed it directly at their old professor, “How can we know it’s you?”

Raising his hand, Remus spoke quickly, “I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four creators of the Marauder’s Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag.”

“Oh, alright,” said Harry, lowering his wand, “but I had to check, didn’t I?”

“Speaking as your ex-Defence Against Art teacher, I quite agree you had to check.”

“What are you doing here? Is everyone okay?” said Harry.

“Yes, everyone got from the wedding alright thanks to Shacklebolt’s warning, but we’re all being watched…” said Remus, sounding more tired and drained than Hermione had ever heard him before. He sat down in the chair at the head of the table, placing a paper next to him.

Before anyone else had a chance to say anything, Hermione rushed to the counter, “Coffee or tea, Professor?”

“Tea is fine, please.” Remus’ tone was carefully neutral as he spoke, “Now, as you know, there’s been some developments…”

Hermione nervously prepared the tea as Remus told about Voldemort’s takeover at the Ministry of Magic, and how Harry was wanted for questioning. Her hands were shaking, nervous energy which had built up over the past week peaking as she listened. There were so much terrible things happening, with the death of Scrimgeour, prosecution of Muggleborns, control of Hogwarts... and guiltily Hermione waited for good news about her and Malfoy’s situation, so they could put this all behind them and get on with their lives. Malfoy could go back to wherever with Remus after this, while Hermione, Harry and Ron continued their quest like they were supposed to.

“I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”  

“He did,” Harry replied, “and Ron and Hermione are in on it and they’re coming with me.”

Lupin hesitated, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Harry.”

Hermione froze and listened intently, wondering where their old Professor was going with this.

“What? No, Dumbledore entrusted us with this, we are the ones doing it. He would have told the Order if he thought it was necessary.” Harry argued, obviously getting agitated as well.

“I thought you’d say that,” sighed Lupin, and Hermione felt his eyes glance her way, “but I think you should reconsider, Harry. Even if you can’t tell me anything, I can come with and offer you protection. You know what I am capable of, who and what I am. I will be useful.”

Harry hesitated, and Hermione could understand why. It was a very tempting offer. A skilled adult wizard, not to mention werewolf, could be incredibly useful, and Hermione knew how dear Remus was to Harry as the only person left that linked him directly to his parents.

However, something about the way he phrased things puzzled her, “What do you mean, Harry should reconsider, Professor?” She clenched the warm cup of tea in her hands, having completed it a long while ago, but gotten so wrapped up in Lupin’s news that she’d forgotten to give it to him.

“Yeah,” Ron butted in before Remus could reply, “What about Tonks? Are you just going to leave her behind?”

“Tonks will be perfectly fine. She’s at her parents’, and will be staying there for a while,” said Lupin pointedly, almost coldly. He then drew a deep breath, like he was about to admit to something deeply unpleasant, “Tonks is going to have a baby.”

“Excellent!” said Ron enthusiastically, and Harry murmured a congratulations.

There seemed to something else bothering Lupin, and the way he kept glancing her way made a horrible feeling settle in the pit of Hermione’s stomach.

Lupin gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, “So… do you accept my offer? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your D.A.D. teacher, after all. I believe we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined,” another glance in Hermione’s direction.

If she hadn’t been standing with her tense back to them she might have turned to Harry to see what he said, and judging from the way a quiet moment just passed she guessed Ron had just done that. 

“Just to be clear, you’re going to leave Tonks behind, leave your unborn child behind…?” started Harry slowly, his quiet rage churning badly concealed under the surface.

“You don’t understand,” said Lupin.

“I understand perfectly well! You are leaving them behind to go on some stupid adventure –,”

“Harry, listen to me! This spell or curse that they cast on Hermione and Draco is irreversible, someone else must go in her place!” said Lupin with a raised voice, having leapt out of his chair angrily.

Hermione felt hot liquid splash up against her trouser leg painfully, but she’d not noticed she’d even dropped the mug in the first place. Shattered ceramic lay scattered by her feet, but she just looked wide-eyed and hollowly at Lupin who was giving her a look full of apology and pity.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Hermione, and I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you better news. We looked at everything we could, but there’s never been anything like this before.”

 “But,” Hermione heard herself whisper, “That’s not possible. If there’s a spell, there will be a counter-spell. We could try recreating the incantation, or do more research… It’s only been a week, you can’t possibly know in that short of a time!”

She hadn’t even realised she was shouting before the small kitchen echoed with her voice, but she didn’t care how startled Harry and Ron looked at her. This couldn’t be true, there must be something else that they could look at! There was so much magic that they didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend – as Remus had said himself, there’s so much magic that they had never encountered or imagined, this was just another one of those that they had to unearth! It would just take more time than she’d first assumed!

“I’m going to be realistic with you, Hermione. We looked at everything we possibly could and more, I promise you. Alastor pulled every string and contacted every acquaintance he could, but it all lead to the same answer; your magic, your… soul if you will, has been torn from their very roots. Its’ very core. A spell such as this is unheard of, and we have no idea of the extent of the damage you and Draco have already suffered because of it.” Lupin drew a deep breath, “I’m terribly sorry, Hermione, but we can’t undo it, there no way. You’d both die.”

Her whole body – _Malfoy’s_ stupid, boyish, unwanted, skinny body shook violently, and she could feel hot tears making their way down the pointed face. Everyone was looking at her in various states of pity, but she didn’t want it, she just wanted to hide away from all those imploring eyes.

“Get out,” Harry bit out coldly at Remus, “We don’t want your help. Ron and I will be perfectly fine with Hermione’s help, we don’t need you.”

Remus looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he sighed resignedly, “Of course. But before I leave,” he rummaged around in his robes, before fishing out a small, round crystal out of his pockets and placing it on the kitchen table. “We found this next to you in the Manor. We’ve tested it thoroughly, but it’s not magical and contained no residue magic within it, but I thought you should have it. Maybe you will be able to find something we didn’t.”

Then he left as quietly as he’d come, and Hermione was left standing here feeling hollow and broken. Her whole world had just been shattered in the span of five minutes and she didn’t know what to do about it. Hermione always had a plan, but she wasn’t Hermione Granger anymore was she? She was this stupid, Death Eater boy, who had hated her since always, and now Malfoy and she was stuck like this forever.

“…Hermione?”

An ugly sob escaped her. She thought she might crumble apart completely if she stayed in this kitchen much longer, so she stormed out, pushing past her two best friend who looked at her sadly as she rushed out.

She just wanted to be alone, to run outside and find her parents. Get a proper good hug from her Dad, while her Mum smiled brightly at whatever new thing she’d read that day. But she was a stranger now, both as Malfoy and Hermione because she’d sent them to Australia to be safe. But oh, how she longed for her Mum’s comforting words now, as she’d wrap Hermione up her arms and reassure her that everything was going to be alright.

Except they weren’t going to be alright. Ever again.

“That was probably the intension of the incantation, you know? To make it impossible to reverse,” mumbled Draco quietly from where he was sitting on the staircase.

Hermione startled, having been so wrapped up in her own sorrow and self-pity that she hadn’t noticed the boy blocking the way to the upper floors. He looked terrible – _she_ looked terrible, or was it he now after all? His face was sunken and pale, the freckles there standing in stark contrast with the white skin. There were also visible tear-tracks on his cheeks, and she would probably see eyes shiny with unshed tears if he wasn’t avoiding her gaze.

“W-What?” She hiccupped, furiously wiping at her own tears that was flowing more freely than Malfoy’s.

“The whole point of it is to make this impossible to reverse,” Malfoy said in a surprisingly steady but hollow tone, the arms he’d wrapped around his knees tightening and pulling them closer to him, “I was thinking about it the other day, meant to talk to you about it, but then you seemed to have some sort of breakthrough with whatever plot you’re planning, so…”

She wasn’t sure how to respond, so Hermione just stood there wrapping long arms around herself and stared down at the floor quietly.

“But I suppose that doesn’t matter now, does it.”

The words were angry but equally as broken, and reminded Hermione that as much as she despised Malfoy he had lost a great deal because of this too. She tried, but struggled to feel sympathy however, only capable of feeling great sadness for herself right then.

“Malfoy, let me pass,” she said quietly, the need to be alone only growing for each second that went by. She inhaled forcefully through her nose, “Please.” 

“This is what I get. What I deserve. Simply because I was too weak to kill a stupid, old man. This is my fault, and all I can think about is what I’m going to do now. Now that I’m forever stuck as a Mudblood. _You_.”

The words stung, but at least they invoked other feelings than sadness in Hermione, who felt anger at the boy who was sitting there in front of her, “You aren’t the only one affected by this, Malfoy, you selfish prick! You got off easy. In fact, you deserve so much worse; for hurting Ron and Katie, for aiding in murdering Dumbledore and letting Death Eaters into the school. If it hadn’t been for you, none of this would have happened, and now look at us! Look at the state of the Wizarding world!”

Malfoy looked at her with wide, dark eyes that were red from crying, and dark curls framed his face messily. If Hermione hadn’t known better, she’d say he looked the picture of innocence.

“You don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head, “He would have killed me if I hadn’t done it.”

“And instead many others will die! Just because you were being a selfish coward, too concerned with yourself and your blood-purity rubbish to see the consequences of your actions!” Hermione was angry now, she could feel her blood boiling just beneath her finger-tips. It was an unfamiliar fury, but she welcomed it. Needed it even.

“I never wanted any of this! Don’t you get it?” cried Malfoy desperately, finally showing some other emotion than that hollow tone that had grated on Hermione, “We aren’t all privileged to have a choice! This is war, Granger, and sometimes you don’t get to pick a side because it’s already picked for you! My family means everything to me, and I wasn’t going to abandon them to face the wrath of the Dark Lord so I could play pals with you and Potter!”

Malfoy was standing now, yet he barely reached past the top of her head even though he was standing two steps above her. 

“So, if your family cares so much for each other, where are they now? What did they do to prevent this? They can’t be awfully concerned for you if they willingly let Voldemort experiment on you, and let you be taken away by the Order so easily,” hissed Hermione coldly, almost scaring herself with this vicious temper she was experiencing. But it was like a floodgate had opened and she was unable to stop, “Say, Malfoy, what will Daddy think now that his pride and joy has turned into a filthy Mudblood girl?”

Malfoy looked like she’d just slapped him, and frankly Hermione was horrified with herself too.

“I – what…”

Her anger had calmed down now, seemingly having all escaped her after her outburst on Malfoy, and was once again replaced by her sadness but now also horror at herself. She needed to be alone. Hermione rushed past the Slytherin before he could say another word, her shoulder knocking in to his and she knew with her greater height and strength it would be rather painful for Malfoy.

She made it to the top of the staircase before she turned around to look at the boy still standing there frozen with his back to her. His shoulders were shaking faintly, his hands curled into tight fists that shook along with his shoulders, but he didn’t make a sound.

“You know Malfoy,” she said bitterly, “You always have a choice. You just made the wrong one, and look where that got you.”

Hermione didn’t stick around to see if Malfoy would respond, knowing whatever would come out of his mouth would be all the brainwashed nonsense his father had filled his head with from a young age. She almost felt bad for him, knowing logically that a lot of decisions he’d made in his life was made by his father, but she quickly told logic to shut up because he’d gone along with it just as willingly. He deserved whatever came his way, she was just wondering what she’d done to be dragged into this mess with him.

She made it to the room she’d picked for herself in the far corner of the first floor, looking at the dark furniture and dim lighting around her sorrowfully. Hermione supposed it was fitting now that she was in the body of a Death Eater…

A thought struck her and she fumbled as she removed the jumper she was wearing, exposing Malfoy’s pale skin that seemed almost luminescent in the blackness. The Dark Mark was easily visible, almost jumping up at her from Malfoy’s arm. She had actively avoided looking at it ever since she’d woken up in the Slytherin’s body, refusing to acknowledge the existence of it as it would only complicate their situation further as it served as a reminder of why she should hate Draco Malfoy. But now it was there, glaring up at her in a horrific and ugly imitation of a gaping skull and snake.

With a careful, trembling hand she traced the outline of the magical tattoo, feeling increasingly sick as she did so. Her, Hermione Granger, a Muggleborn and best-friend of Harry Potter who was the figure of Light, had the mark of the world’s most evil wizard branded into her arm forever.

Hermione wanted to vomit, almost did too, but she was stronger than that, though she did nothing to stop the tears that was once again prickling almost painfully at the corners of her eyes. She needed to cover it, she couldn’t walk around with this disgusting thing on her arm.

Summoning her beaded bag, she roamed around in it until she found her muggle first-aid kit. She fished out a clean bandage, which she attempted wrapping around the marked arm to the best of her ability. Her whole body was shaking, and it was difficult to bind the left arm with only her right hand, but she eventually managed covering the offensive tattoo.

It was strange, how pale Malfoy was. The white, crisp bandage’s colour seeming almost to blend into the skin itself. Hers were speckled with faint freckles, and though pale it had a hint of glow to it from exposure to the summer sun. Hermione had to test if Malfoy could get a tan, it would be amusing to see him pink from sunburn. It wasn’t like she didn’t have all the time in the world to do so now.

A sob escaped her as she thought about it, and she curled up in the bed she’d made for herself as she cried quietly. 

Everything was falling apart, and what were they going to do now? Should they continue like they’d planned and go about hunting the Horcuxes? Harry had seemed adamant that she’d come with them to Lupin, but then again, how would he and Ron be able to see past the face that had tormented them for year, had been responsible for so much horrible things happening? Hermione didn’t know if she could stomach their looks of concealed contempt, but she didn’t know if she could stand sticking around with Malfoy forever either.

Yet, they were stuck in this together now, and as much as she hated Malfoy and having to depend on him, she couldn’t just leave him behind with her body to roam free as he pleased. God knew what he’d get up to, he’d probably get himself killed or something equally stupid. And if he did that then she’d be all alone in this, and that was probably even more horrifying than having to do this with Malfoy. Because if Malfoy was with her and alive, then at least there were still some hope.

Hermione shuddered in attempt to calm herself as her mind started churning with that thought – if they worked together there was still some hope. She knew Lupin, Tonks and Moody were all brilliant wizards, but there was no way they had examined all options in a week, no way that the crystal didn’t matter somewhat. As much as she hated to admit it, Malfoy was a brilliant wizard too, only second after her in class. If they put their mind together they could solve this.

They could do it. Hermione would do whatever it took to restore things to how things were supposed to be, even if that meant having to cooperate with one of the people she hated most in this world, as long as she’d never have to ever see his face again when they were done. She would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's left lovely comments and constructive criticisms on this fic so far. I'm trying to take everything to heart, and adapt my writing to it, though at times it can be difficult to do so when it depends somewhat on interpretation, and conflicts with plots and plans I have for the fic... but I always welcome them and do my best with every feedback you guys leave! Also, please let me know if there's any errors or spelling mistakes, I'm foreign and don't know what I'm doing lol.
> 
> And thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!  
> xx


	7. Take Me as I Am

“I can’t believe that toad has You-Know-Who’s horcrux…”

Harry couldn’t help but agree with Ron. This was far worse than they’d imagined. Kreacher had arrived with Mundungus Fletcher, who had admitted under forceful questioning that he’d stolen Regulus’ locket from Grimmauld Place. He’d attempted to sell it in Diagon Alley but it had been confiscated by Umbridge, who was safely hidden away in the Ministry of Magic which was currently under Voldemort’s control. Oh, and all the while, Hermione and Malfoy had yet to make an appearance after Lupin had popped by earlier that day with the bad news… things couldn’t be much worse, if Harry was honest.

“I know,” Harry sighed, “But we have to get it. Even if that means breaking into the Ministry and confronting Umbridge.”

“Yeah, but how?”

Harry scrubbed his face with his hands, pressing the palms into his tired eyes, “Everything will be heavily guarded and it won’t be any easy way inside… I don’t know, Ron. We need to do some spawning or something to find out how to get in undetected, but…”

There was a brief pause, as Ron stared down at his now cold tea, “We can’t ask Hermione now, mate. It wouldn’t be fair.”

It was undeniably true, that their friend was in no state to go Horcrux hunting when she’d just received such devastating, crushing news. God knew Harry would never leave the house again if he was trapped as Draco Malfoy forever. But they had to act soon. Voldemort was only getting stronger and more powerful, and as much as it pained Harry, Hermione would have to decide whether she wanted to continue with their original plan, or focus her attention on trying to break the curse that had befallen her and Malfoy. Harry didn’t blame her if she did, but they also couldn’t do this without her.

Ron frowned, as if he could hear Harry’s train of thought, “Listen, Harry, it’s not that I don’t want her there… I know we can’t do this without her, but I’m really worried for her. I know I’m not credited for being particularly perceptive, but can you imagine what she’s going through? Hell, I even feel sorry for the bloody ferret of all people.”

“Yeah…” Harry muttered half-heartedly, as his thoughts kept churning in his head; that was another thing, wasn’t it? No matter what they’d chose to do now, they would have to include Malfoy as well. They couldn’t leave him behind alone if Hermione decided to come with Harry and Ron, not while he was in Hermione’s body. He’d do something stupid and get himself killed the second he stepped out of the door. In addition, with the recent Ministry-takeover, he was officially wanted because he was now per definition a Muggleborn and would probably get captured in an instant, that twat. And how would Hermione ever get back to herself if he went and did something idiotic like that? But no, they needed to talk to Hermione about this too, as it was her body, she should make all of these calls. Besides, she was the Brightest Witch of her Age, not matter what face she was sporting, she would make the right decision.

“But we need to speak to her about it. We need to decide what we will do onwards, and whether she’ll be coming with us or not,” said Harry firmly, having made up his mind. He knew he wasn’t being fair, by hardly giving Hermione any time to deal with her situation before serving up an ultimatum like that. By the look on Ron’s face he thought so too, but Ron was too blinded by his love and affection for the girl currently wearing Malfoy’s skin to see that time was of the essence here. Voldemort wouldn’t stop because one of Harry’s friends was having an identity crisis made of nightmares.

“Are you serious? Harry, she’s in bits, we can’t ask her to make a decision so soon! Give her a few days, at least!”

“We can’t, Ron, there’s no time!” Harry said with a raised voice, feeling his temper and frustration simmering within himself, “While we’re sitting here twiddling our thumbs, Voldemort is on the move! Who knows how many more will die by the time things are back to normal – if they ever will be! You heard Lupin! This is permanent!”

Ron had paled, his freckles standing out in stark contrast with the light skin, “You don’t mean that, Harry. There must be a way. Hermione said it herself, that a week is far too little time to have investigated all the options!”

“I’d like to believe that, but Moody, Tonks and Remus… They’re skilled at what they do. They wouldn’t tell Hermione there was no cure unless they honestly believed there was none.”

Harry could practically feel Ron’s desperation radiating off him, and understood it perfectly well – what were they going to do if this actually _was_ permanent? Harry hadn’t really had any time to think about it, but what would happen to Hermione and Malfoy if this curse became public, or rather, what if it didn’t? Would Hermione suffer for Malfoy’s crimes, or would they chuck Hermione’s body with Malfoy in it in Azkaban? And what if they didn’t manage to defeat Voldemort, what would become of them then? What would become of Ron and Hermione if she never turned back to her old self? Harry wasn’t blind, he’d seen how his friends had looked at each other lately, how close they’d become since Sixth year. However, this recent incidence had most definitely put tension on what appeared to be a budding relationship, so the question remained what would happen between his two friends now that such an obvious barrier had been placed between them. Would Hermione overcome this, and if she didn’t, would Ron be able to look past it?

“No!” Harry startled and looked at Ron whose face twisted into an angry snarl, “Don’t you dare say that! We can’t just give up on her, Harry! If Hermione believes there is a way to fix this, there is! Screw the Aurors and Lupin, they can’t piss right off if they are willing to give up on her so easily, but we will not – _I_ will not!”

Feeling terrible and exhausted all of a sudden, Harry heaved a heavy breath, feeling the anger drain out of him. He honestly wanted to believe that Ron was right on this.

“Alright,” he said resignedly, “We won’t, of course we won’t. But we still need to talk to her about what we are going to do.”

When Ron looked like he was about to butt in again, Harry quickly injected, “Tomorrow. When we’ve all calmed down a bit. It’s too late now anyway.”

Ron nodded curtly, then without a word he turned on his heel and stormed out, obviously upset that Harry was not listening to him that Hermione needed more time to cope and hopefully come up with a way to cure herself.

Sighing again, Harry got up from his own chair, deciding that he should get to bed too. It was already eleven at night, and by the looks of things it would be an early morning for them all. He would need all the energy he could get.

As he headed upstairs he couldn’t help but notice how quiet everything was. There was no sound of anyone walking around or talking, no Molly Weasley puttering away in the kitchen and no Sirius laughing heartily echoing between the walls. The house, which had always been dark and dreary felt even more so than before, almost suffocatingly so now that the few people left here were so plagued with a bleak reality.

Harry came to a standstill on the top of the stairs to the first floor, looking hesitantly at the staircase leading up to the floor above where he and Ron was currently sharing a room. Even though he and Ron had always shared a room, Harry didn’t feel like going up there only to be met with quiet anger directed at him. He sighed to himself resignedly, opting for sleeping in the Drawing room which was big and spacious, and would also give him a nice overview of the street. The Death Eaters were still patrolling outside, lingering just outside their doorstep and it made Harry uneasy knowing that they were there constantly. It was only a matter of time before they’d discover them, and it made it all the more important to get moving and start planning.

Having made up his mind, Harry took a sharp turn to the left, only to come to an abrupt halt again in the doorway to the room as the sight of Hermione’s petite body and wild mane of hair greeted him. She was standing looking at the Black family tapestry, her head tilted to the side slightly, arms crossed and her eyes hollow and tired with dark lines framing them.

It looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

“Potter,” Malfoy greeted with his eyes still trained intently on the tapestry.

“Malfoy,” Harry responded, feeling suspicion rise within him as he wondered why the other boy was wandering around the house at this time of night. Harry always thought Malfoy always sequestered himself to the room he’d picked for himself, it had never occurred to Harry that the git might actually attempt to explore the house, especially with Harry and Ron there in addition to Hermione and himself.

“Came to keep an eye on me, did you? Couldn’t let the terrible Death Eater roam around by himself, I guess,” said Malfoy emptily, his now feminine voice completely void of any emotion. It made Harry uncomfortable, as he’d always considered the Slytherin to be full of fiery anger and disdain that he carefully laced his every word with when he spoke. Seeing and hearing him so defeated made something unpleasant twitch in Harry’s gut.

Instead of answering the Slytherin however, he asked, “What are you doing in here?”

“I was attempting to play the piano, but Granger’s hands are smaller with shorter fingers than mine, so I keep tripping over the keys,” Malfoy said sounding frustrated then shrugged, the small shoulders hunching under the cardigan draped over them.

“Oh,” Harry responded intelligently, feeling slightly silly for suspecting the boy for ill-intent when he was so obviously preoccupied by his and Hermione’s swap. Yet, curious as to why Malfoy hadn’t just returned to his room, he asked, “Then why are you still here?”

Large, brown eyes snapped to Harry in surprise with a flash of fury, just as Harry realised his phrasing so he hurriedly corrected himself, “Like, here, in this room I mean. It’s like, late.” He finished lamely, but it seemed to placate Malfoy.

“I…” the Slytherin hesitated, and turned back to the tapestry. He went quiet as he stared intently at the embroidery, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Feeling his interest peeking, Harry walked further into the room and stopped shoulder to shoulder next to Malfoy, wondering what he was so distracted by. And suddenly he understood why the other boy was looking like he’d seen a ghost.

“It changed,” Malfoy whispered, barely loud enough for Harry to hear it, “It wasn’t like that a few days ago, it changed.”

Indeed, the Black family tapestry _had_ changed. Harry let his eyes roam from the very trunk of the embroidered tree to the lowest-hanging branch on the right; ‘ _Cygnus Black’ and ‘Druella Rosier’, to ‘Narcissa Black’ and ‘Lucius Malfoy’, to ‘Draco Malfoy’_ , but instead of a stitched image of a sneering, narrow-faced, blonde boy, the tapestry showed an image of a woman with long, dark curls and dark eyes. It looked an awful lot like Hermione, Harry thought. 

And right then Harry felt a slight pang of sympathy for Malfoy, finding it difficult to imagine what the Slytherin was going through. At least Hermione had the support of her friends through this ordeal, even if she didn’t always acknowledge that herself, but Malfoy was completely alone, trapped in a house with people he hated, and looked like everything seemed to fall apart around him. And Harry had seen the state it had left him only a few days earlier, when Harry had found him hunched over the toilet bowl in the bathroom. He definitely couldn’t imagine how the Slytherin must be feeling.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who stood next to him with his arms wrapped tightly around himself with the same hollow eyes staring intently at the tapestry, and wondered if he should say something to the other boy. What would Dumbledore do? Harry had asked himself this question many times in the past, always found it to be a useful way to act like he thought best, but now he was unsure if it was the best path to take. Dumbledore would have given the boy another chance, was willing to do so on the top of the Astronomy Tower when Malfoy had his wand trained on him in intention to kill. Should Harry offer the same? It had seemed like the Slytherin had been about to accept Dumbledore’s offer if the Death Eaters hadn’t burst in at exactly the wrong moment, but would Malfoy even consider accepting this time around? And what if he did, then what?

“Potter,” Malfoy hissed before heaving a shuddering breath, “Just bloody say something.”

Having not realised that he had gotten completely lost in his own head, Harry jumped at the sound and stared bewildered at the Slytherin next to him who was looking at him penetratingly with dark eyes that would usually have been a piercing grey with flecks of blue. The reality of the observation shook him, how this all seemed perfectly normal with him standing next to one of his best friends but was so entirely and completely wrong. It should have been a tall, snarky blonde git with a sneer marring his features as he constantly insulted Harry’s distasteful attire and general intelligence standing next to him, not the petite, bushy-haired brunette who seemed exhausted and ready to fall apart at any second.

“I’m sorry…” he responded, and with surprise he realised he meant it. He did honestly feel bad for the Slytherin, which might have been why he heard himself mutter words he never thought he would ever ask Malfoy, “Are you… okay?”

Malfoy’s brow furrowed, Harry’s response obviously not something he had been expecting, “Potter, are _you_ okay? Did you hit your head?”

“No,” Harry huffed exasperated, “I just thought… you know what, never mind.”

“Listen, I don’t want your fucking pity. Why don’t you go find the actual Granger, where your weak comforting act might actually work. Or maybe –,”

“Will you be quiet,” Harry interrupted with a snap, “…for just a minute? Please,” He gritted out between clenched teeth in attempt to reign in the familiar anger that always made appearance every time he talked to Malfoy. 

The now brunette’s mouth snapped shut with what sounded like a faint click as he glared at Harry. 

“Honestly, Malfoy. You’re the last person deserving of any sympathy in this house, but you cannot seriously be telling me that what Lupin told Hermione about this… curse, isn’t affecting you?”

Malfoy chewed on his lip thoughtfully, before he said, “You should go talk to Granger, Potter. I’m not taking the piss when I say that your sympathy would be more appreciated there.”

Harry shook his head, “No, right now she’s inconsolable. At least from Ron and I’s attempts to comfort her. Only Mrs. Weasley would be able to solve this one, I think.”

The Slytherin didn’t answer, only hugging himself tighter as a scowl appeared on his face.

Seeing what was going through the other boy’s mind, Harry spoke with a bit of spite, “You think you know us so well, don’t you? Like we’re this perfect group of friends. Well, we’re not. And I’m not this _hero_ everyone tries to make me out to be. We are not that different.”

“I’m nothing like you.” Malfoy spat, but there was not real malice behind it, just resignation.

Harry sighed frustrated, “Maybe not. Yet here you are, stuck with us,” He dragged a hand through his hair, messing it up further, “Listen, Malfoy; you are not exactly in a position to be all high and mighty here. Just take help when you are offered it, alright?”

Without waiting for an answer, Harry spun on his heel and headed for the door to find somewhere else to sleep, when a voice made him halt in his tracks;

“It did affect me. Lupin’s news, I mean.”

Harry craned his head and looked over his shoulder at Malfoy who was facing him, a determined façade barely concealing the turmoil underneath it.

When Malfoy understood that Harry was waiting for him to continue, he sucked in a deep breath as if to steel himself, “I’ve not quite managed to wrap my head around it, because this should be impossible. I just can’t accept it... I mean, could anyone?” he laughed emptily, “Like, this is a fucking joke, right? You can’t be seriously telling me I’m stuck as Granger – Mudblood and know-it-all for the rest of my life, right? Am I expected to just live life like her now, while she has mine, and pretend everything is fucking normal? Is this,” he gestured to himself, “what I am now, then? I mean, are you _fucking serious_?”

Without thinking of his actions, Harry walked forward and placed a reassuring hand the distressed girl’s shoulder, only seeing his dear friend upset and in need of comfort, but was quickly snapped back to reality as she flinched backwards, her eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears;

“Don’t touch me!” Malfoy yelled, and Harry took a step back as he realised what he had been doing.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, not quite understanding Malfoy’s reaction.

He obviously wasn’t okay, but Harry hadn’t been expecting Malfoy to have some sort of nervous breakdown right in front of him willingly. Harry always seemed to have that displeasure whenever Malfoy was crying in a bathroom.

“Uhm…” Harry hesitated, unsure what he could do for someone who so clearly didn’t want his support. Malfoy was standing here, fists tightly clenched and faintly shaking, his lips pressed into a thin line as he blinked rapidly, obviously doing his best to calm himself.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Harry stared incredulously at the Slytherin, whose quiet admission had taken him completely by surprise. Was Malfoy… asking for help? Harry thought back to the incidence at the Astronomy Tower again, remembering the other boy’s incapability of killing Dumbledore. As furious as Harry had been that Malfoy had been partly responsible for the Headmaster’s death, he also recalled the sympathy he had felt for the boy in the aftermath. Malfoy had clearly been put in a position that where he had little to no choice but to obey, and from the state he had been during the attack on Hogwarts, Harry could only imagine what Voldemort was threatening to do. Hell, look at what he did when his subjects failed to do what they were told.

“Listen, Malfoy…I was there, that night at the Astronomy Tower. I saw everything.”

The Slytherin’s head snapped up, the wiry curls framing a face portraying both shock and horror at the same time, “What?”

“Yeah. I was… under a body-bind at the time, Dumbledore put it on me so I didn’t interfere. I’m not quite sure why, but that’s not important. What I am trying to say is that I know that you couldn’t kill Dumbledore. I know you’re not a killer. And I know that Dumbledore offered protection.”

Malfoy’s mouth turned downwards, his eyes filling with confusion and hurt as Harry spoke, but he didn’t interrupt, so Harry took it as a que to continue. Oh God, Ron was going to kill him for what he was about to do.

“I want to offer you the same.”

The room filled with an uncomfortable silence as Harry looked intently at Malfoy for any kind of response, while Malfoy’s gaze was glued to the worn, grotty carpet.

“If you were there,” Malfoy started softly after a moment, barely speaking loud enough for Harry to hear, “then you know I had never expected to come to that, right? That I thought I’d die long before then.”

Harry didn’t know what kind of response he had been expecting, but Malfoy’s quiet admission certainly hadn’t been it. He nodded carefully however, worried that any sort of abrupt movement or sound would break this rare moment of truce between them, “Yeah, I know.”

“I never wanted any of this, Potter,” said Malfoy with only a hint of spite as he rubbed his face tiredly, “I never thought my actions would ever leave me here; hiding away with you lot, while trapped in the body of a mudbl – Granger’s stupid body.”

Resolutely ignoring the insult, and also the sad excuse for a correction, Harry shrugged and stuffed his hands into his trouser-pockets, “I think I speak for all when I say that it came as a shock to everyone. But it is important to move forward, find a way to make things right.”

Malfoy snorted humourlessly, before he spat bitterly, “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear Lupin. This can’t be ‘ _made right_ ’. There’s no cure, the werewolf said so himself. Granger and I are stuck like this.”

“First of all, if there’s anyone who can find the cure for this, it’s Hermione,” said Harry matter-of-factly, even if he wasn’t quite sure he believed his own words himself, “Secondly, since when did you ever listen to what Remus said? You surprise me, Malfoy, really. Maybe this curse has affected you more than we initially thought.”

Harry knew he was being childish, but he was tired and worn, and he didn’t know why but for some reason he was standing here talking to Malfoy at midnight instead of seeking out his actual friends, one of which actually wanted and probably needed his comfort. But he refrained from moving at the thought, only feeling a slight sense of satisfaction as he saw some of that familiar fire light up in Malfoy’s eyes at Harry’s words.

“I’m still me, Potter, and don’t you fucking dare think otherwise. I thought you being practically blind and all would help you in this situation since you can’t see me anyway, but apparently your intellect is as deficient as your eyesight.”

“Well, if you weren’t moping around so much, maybe I would be convinced but here we are,” said Harry superiorly. It was strange, but Harry had to admit he was enjoying, even missing, the barbs and insults. Ron and Hermione were his best friends, but lately, before this curse had even happened, they’d become too involved with each other and their group only ever talked about Horcrux hunting. And Harry was grateful that his friends were taking things so seriously, but for some reason Malfoy insulting him meant there was at least some normality, even if he looked and sounded exactly like Hermione.

The Slytherin opened his mouth to retort, but then paused, a thoughtful frown forming on his face before he spoke, “Why exactly are you here, Potter?”

“I could ask you the same.”

In that moment, Harry caught Malfoy’s eyes, who was watching at him with such intensity that Harry almost felt like he needed to take a step backwards.

“Trust me when I say that you’re not my preferred company, but as you can see my options for social interactions are kind of limited,” huffed Malfoy, and crossed his arms over his chest. An uncomfortable scowl briefly appeared as he did so, but Harry decided not to read too much into it. Malfoy was already difficult enough to understand.

“You must be proper desperate then,” said Harry drily, then remembered the issue at hand and turned serious, “But Malfoy, I’m genuine about what I said. We can offer you protection.”

“Who is going to protect me from bodily harm afflicted by Weasley?”

Harry couldn’t help the snort that escaped him then, “You might have to rely on Hermione for that, as she is the only one he really listens to.”

Malfoy looked thoughtful again, “If I accept this… offer, then what will that involve, exactly?”

“I think you should talk to Hermione about that too, as it’s not up to me to decide what is best for the both of you. I can tell you right now though that we’ll need to be able to trust you, and you have to be able to trust us.”

“How do you know I will not just stab you in the back?”

“I don’t know. Will you?”

Malfoy shrugged noncommittally, but the indifference he was trying to exude seemed entirely like an act to Harry who couldn’t help but feel apathetic towards the boy’s attitude.  

“Listen, Malfoy. You are pretty alone in the world right now, can you really afford to push away those few people who are actually trying to help?” said Harry detachedly, putting a lot of effort into concealing his own apprehension that was growing over this conversation.

Malfoy’s now petite body tensed completely, his fingers digging into the soft material of the cardigan he was wearing. Harry felt uncomfortable watching Hermione’s body react like that, so obviously defensive and terrified, but he needed Malfoy to understand that they all needed to work together. Harry wasn’t quite sure at exactly why or when he’d become so adamant about Malfoy cooperating, as he couldn’t really imagine for things to work out, but he had to do it for Hermione if no one else. Ron words stuck with him, and he decided that his friend was right, they couldn’t just abandon the hope that there was still a chance to fix things, but that meant they would need Malfoy’s help as well.

With more authority than Harry felt he was capable of he stuck out his hand to the other boy, “So what do you say, Malfoy?”

Malfoy glared at the offered hand, still wound awfully tight. Harry could almost see the thoughts racing in the Slytherin’s mind, every pro and con, every potential difficulty and fight that probably would happen at some point. Every struggle that joining Harry Potter and his friends would bring about.

Several seconds passed in silence, before Malfoy seemed to deflate like a balloon, a large gush of air rushing out of him in a whoosh.

“Fine,” he bit out and glared at Harry, letting his displeasure be well known, “But don’t take this the wrong way, Potter. This doesn’t mean a thing,” said Malfoy coldly.

Malfoy slotted his smaller hand in Harry’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update, studying is crazy and this chapter just wouldn't let itself be written, hence why it's far from my best. Thanks for sticking with it though, and I hope you liked it even if it's not the most exciting! It will bring about the more intense stuff though, and will finally (hopefully) start us on the path for more plot-heavy stuff. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated B-)


	8. What It Feels Like For A Girl

_Lavender and Parvati were whispering and giggling about something as usual when Hermione woke up in the plush, red four-poster bed that morning. They were always like this, excluding her from everything because she simply wasn’t girly enough, and hung out with Harry and Ron instead of them. It wasn’t her fault they were more fun than those girls, and there was less drama with the guys even if they argued on occasion. At least they would never argue over something as silly as boys or makeup as the other girls she shared dormitory with did. They were twelve for God’s sake, wasn’t school more important than all that stupid stuff? If they studied as much as she did then maybe they wouldn’t keep losing points in Snape’s class, and they would actually learn something for once. Hermione honestly meant if that if people prioritised things differently, like studying over fanning over stupid boys who were too busy with Qudditich anyway, then the world would be a much better, more peaceful place._

_Nodding confidently to herself, knowing that at least she had her priorities straight, Hermione jumped out of bed. In that moment, Lavender turned to look at Hermione, and her eyes widened dramatically before she furiously whispered something to Parvati who turned to look at Hermione as well._

_Both girls giggled again, this time louder while they looked at Hermione who felt a blush creep up her neck and onto her face, “What?” she asked when the girls wouldn’t quiet down._

_Lavender’s face turned smug, “You might want to go talk to Madam Pomfrey, Hermione. You’re a big girl now!” she exclaimed, then pointed at Hermione with a short, stumpy finger messily painted with pink nail polish._

_Hermione lowered her gaze to where the other girl was pointing, and felt the blush that had appeared disappear along with the rest of the blood in her face. There, on the lower part of her peach-coloured nightgown that her Mum had purchased for her over summer, was a large stain that was dark red tainting the fabric._

Draco Malfoy woke up filled with horror in his own bed in Grimmauld Place.

...

“You can’t keep me from coming with you, that’s not your decision!”

“Hermione, it will be heavily guarded, it won’t be safe! Especially now that you’re… well…”

“Well what, Ronald? Just say it! Because I look like Malfoy now, you don’t trust me? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“What, no! I’m just worried how this is affecting you! After Lupin’s news I thought –,”

Draco hesitated outside the closed door leading to the kitchen, the noise of the ongoing fight easily heard through the fragile, old wood. The sound of Weasel pathetically trying to defend himself against a furious Granger would usually have amused him to no end, but for some reason their argument just made him uncomfortable now. It was a ridiculous notion, but Draco suspected that being in Granger’s body affected him more than he’d initially thought, like it had changed him mentally somewhat. It was the only explanation, as he had never in his life thought he’d ever feel bad for _Weasley_ of all people as he made a sorry attempt at expressing his concern for the girl he cared so much about. Maybe it was because he was in a girl’s body that he reacted different; they were naturally more susceptible to this kind of empathic, emotional bullshit, right? Especially when… Draco gulped, feeling sick and awful as he tried to avoid make himself think of the dream he’d just had.

Thinking of anything concerning that was like an emotional pitfall and Merlin help him if started crying again any time soon. He’d done it way too much recently, especially after the werewolf’s visit, when he’d sat by himself in the staircase eavesdropping and silently moping as their old professor delivered the devastating news, followed by Granger’s hurtful yet truthful words about his family. He wasn’t sure what to think anymore, because why hadn’t his father stopped Bellatrix? And where had his mother been at the time? The thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone, which had lead him to the Drawing Room in front of the Black tapestry which had become sort of a comfort as of late. Though yesterday it had changed to Draco’s dread, and he had stood there staring at it incomprehensively and horrified for a long time before Potter had found him.

Potter was probably in the kitchen with Granger and Weasley, even if Draco couldn’t hear him. Draco definitely didn’t want to go in there right now, as Potter would probably look at him the same stupid, sympathetic way he’d done yesterday when he’d caught Draco in _another_ moment of weakness and self-pity. Draco must really be pathetic now if the fucking Boy-Who-Lived offered him… help? Protection? As much as it had hurt and wounded his pride to become the latest addition to Harry Potter’s pity projects, the stupid Saviour had been right about one thing – he was alone now, as he was a stranger to all his friends, his family, everyone he’s ever met except the bloody Golden Trio.   

And that had brought him here, standing in front of the kitchen door seeking the assistance of one unstable, pissed off witch that was currently inhabiting his body. She was probably still angry with him from yesterday, after everything that had been said between them and all the insults. Hell, he was angry from yesterday so he couldn’t really point fingers, but he hoped it wouldn’t keep her from helping him with his… problem none the less. 

Shuddering, he urged himself to gently knock on the door before pushing it open, peeking his head inside. The room went abruptly quiet and Draco couldn’t help but feel like the scene was awfully familiar, like he was intruding on an argument between his parents again.

Granger and Weasley were standing facing each other over the long table, while Potter was sitting at the end, looking more despondent and apathetic than usual as his friends argued, though a strange expression appeared on his face as he noticed Draco enter.

“Malfoy,” he greeted, with a nod, while the other two in the room was still glaring furiously at each other.

“Potter,” Draco responded flatly, forcing himself to be civil. Faith was a cruel mistress by making these people who he loathed his only allies in an ironic and cruel twist of events, truly.

“You look like a mess, Malfoy,”

Draco’s attention snapped to Weasley who was now snarling at him instead of Granger, obviously having lost whatever glaring-contest had gone on between them. Draco drew a deep breath to calm himself as to not to lash out at the boy, reminding himself that the redheaded Weasel wasn’t worth risking Granger not helping him. 

With some effort, he intently ignored Weasley’s existence, his eyes trained on his own pale and narrow face as he asked with as much purpose as he could muster, “Can I talk to you?”

Granger looked surprised for a brief second before she scowled at him, the corners of her mouth turned downwards as she said, “We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

An unusual feeling of annoyance and hurt washed over Draco as he noticed her defensive posture, but he quickly crushed it, not allowing himself to be affected by the fact that Granger was still upset with him.

“Granger,” Draco ground out carefully, wrapping his arms around himself as his stomach twinged painfully, “ _I’m not feeling very well_.”

The expression of dawning realisation and embarrassment that appeared on Granger’s face would have been hilarious if Draco wasn’t feeling so fucking terrible.

“Oh,” she said intelligently, “ _Oh_.”

With an impressive speed that he didn’t know his own body was capable off, Granger sprang into motion and was out the door within a second, grabbing Draco around the waist and dragging him along as she exited the kitchen. Draco barely glimpsed Weasley and Potter’s dumfounded faces before Granger managed to haul him half-way up the stairs with practically no effort.

“Granger, slow down!” said Draco, sounding slightly hysterical to his own ears as she quickly made her way upstairs while keeping a tight grip on him. She really needed to learn how use his strength, because she was certainly overdoing it with all this throwing him around like a ragdoll, and it made him uncomfortably aware of how much smaller he was now that he was a girl.

They came to an abrupt halt at the top of the first floor, thankfully far enough away so Potter and Weasley didn’t hear them speaking. He’d rather not have them know about this particular humiliation, despite his sense of manhood having already been obliterated the moment he’d become Hermione Granger. 

“Did it start just now? Or overnight? How are you feeling? Is it a bad one?”

The barrage of questions made Draco just blink uncomprehendingly at her, not quite sure what he should address first, “I’m…. not sure?”

Granger stared at him mutely, her eyes wide and scrutinising which made Draco squirm uncomfortably under her gaze, “Malfoy, surely you must have noticed you were bleeding down there at some point or other over the course of the last few hours,”

“I honestly don’t know, Granger!” Draco said with a raised voice, feeling dumb and panicky all of a sudden, “I’ve had stomach-pains for a couple of days, and today it turned _bad_ , and then I was just _bleeding_. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is a pretty new, horrific experience for me, so I’m sorry if I don’t keep exact track of all the details.”

Without warning, Granger grabbed his hand and manhandled him into the closest room, that conveniently was the one he’d declared _his_ at this point, which meant no one would come in uninvited and witness this wreck of a fucked up situation.

“Will you be quiet!” Granger hissed, a deep scarlet spreading over her face. It was definitely not a good look with that pale Malfoy complexion, “Do you want Harry and Ron to know you just had your – my period?”

Draco felt his own face heat up, “ _No._ They’re probably already laughing at me enough as is, with me losing my dick overnight and all.”

“Then don’t be so bloody loud!”

Crossing his arm sullenly, he sat down in one of the armchairs standing in the corner without a word.

Granger had the audacity to roll her eyes at him, “Oh stop pouting, it isn’t _that_ bad. All girls go through it every month.”

“Yes, _girls_. I’m not supposed to have to!” Draco grumbled irritably, knowing perfectly well how petulant he sounded but the cramps just kept getting worse and he really couldn’t deal with Granger’s attitude right now.

“Come off it and check your privilege, Malfoy,” said Granger, then rubbed the bridge of her nose like all of this was giving her a headache, “I have pads and everything that you’ll need in my bag. Come on,”

Draco considered not following her out of spite as she left the room, but reminded himself that he’d actually asked her for help that she seemed willing to offer, so he got up from the chair and trailed after her to the bathroom, all the while clutching his stomach as it ached.

In the bathroom, Granger fished out the beaded bag she’d shown him a few days back out of her pocket. It looked ridiculous in the pale, slender hands of what appeared to be Draco Malfoy, though less so when knowing it was Granger who was currently not sporting the classic Malfoy black, but dark muggle jeans and an oxblood coloured jumper that probably belonged to Weasley as the sleeves were slightly too long for Draco’s arms.

“Here,” Granger said, having apparently found what she needed without the fumbling that she’d gone through last time, and pushed a purple, square packet into Draco’s hands, “These are pads. I’d usually only wear them at night, but,” she shrugged and avoided looking directly at Draco.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them; Granger was shuffling her feet restlessly while Draco was staring blankly at the weird object she’d just had handed him.

“Granger,” Draco started, feeling the blush starting to spread over his face again as he weakly admitted, “I don’t know how… well,”

“Right,” Granger drew a sharp breath, seeming to try to compose herself, “Well, you just put them in your pants so you don’t ruin your clothes, it’s not overly complicated.”

Draco nodded, “Okay. I kind of… put some toilet paper there. You know, earlier,” he shrugged, “It’s not very comfortable.”

Despite the tension in the room, Granger snorted though it wasn’t very humorous, “No, I know. Change into the pads, they should be a bit more protective and comfortable. And just, you know, clean yourself regularly and change frequently, and you will be fine,”

For some inexplicable reason, a need to really talk to the girl in front of him washed over Draco. He knew he’d been an arsehole to her since forever, and that she had no real obligation towards him, yet she’d had helped him twice now without mocking him for how pathetic and incompetent he appeared. And in return, he had done absolutely nothing but insult her. 

“I don’t like to… you know. It’s upsetting, all this,” he said, surprising himself slightly with the confession, though for once Granger didn’t seem taken aback by him showing some vulnerability only forlorn.

“Yeah, I know,” she muttered, fiddling with the colourful beads on her bag, “Ron and Harry seem to forget who I am sometimes and look at me like… I don’t blame them, but I just want things to be what they used to be.” 

Draco couldn’t help but agree with her, and though he was also somewhat glad he no longer was prisoner in his own home he was now prisoner in a whole other respect. He missed his body that didn’t move strangely, with short hair that didn’t constantly get in his way, and was taller and stronger with unrestrained energy.

“Granger, do you believe Lupin? That this is irreversible, I mean.”

Granger frowned at him, a slight hint of resent lacing her words as she said, “Why do you even ask? You seemed to believe him yesterday when you said that it was probably the intention of the spell.”

Draco shrugged and hugged himself, “I don’t know. I could just do with some of that unrelenting, annoying Gryffindor optimism right now I guess.” 

“I think you should ask someone else then,” Granger pressed her lips into a thin line, her frown deepening, “I wasn’t exactly perceived as the most optimistic, rather more the realistic type – or you know, Gloomy Bitch as Lavender liked to call me behind my back last year.”

“I hardly think Brown is in a position to criticise anyone when all she did last year was clutching onto her dear _Won-Won_ like a tic,” Draco grimaced at the memory of the recent couple’s, well, _Brown’s_ disgusting public displays of affectionate humping in the Great Hall.  

“I’m surprised you noticed anything at all with all your plotting and scheming, and doom and gloom attitude last year.”

The words made him tense, his grip tightening so much on the small package he had in his hands that the soft material scrunched up underneath the grip. He had not really thought much about the events from their sixth year lately beyond what had brought him to their current predicament; he hadn’t thought about his lack of eating and socialising with friends, his constant dark thoughts that felt like they were suffocating him and the pressure that if he failed his mother and father would be killed. 

Granger’s eyes flickered with some sort of emotion Draco couldn’t interpret, then she moved closer and laid a slender hand on top of his smaller ones that were gripping the pads tightly, “I shouldn’t have mentioned it, I’m sorry,” she said, then chewed her lip, “I know you tried to explain it to me, angrily so, but still, I thought about it and I think I understand… somewhat.”

Draco glanced up at the girl dubiously. It wasn’t like her to admit to something like this.

There was a brief pause before she rushed out, “I erased my parents’ memories of me. Sent them away because I was worried what might happen to them here. I didn’t want to see them hurt, and I think I understand that was your intention too, even if you went about it completely wrong and despicably so with only your selfish motives in mind and utter disregard for anyone else –,”

She was speaking so quickly now that she was barely pausing to take a breath, insulting yet being understanding about it on both out-breath and in-breath, and Draco worried she might faint since his body was not used to nor equipped for rattling on like this.

“Okay, Granger, I get it! I get it. You’ve made your point.”

Granger mouth snapped shut with a click. It seemed she wasn’t used to people cutting her off like that. If Draco had to guess Potter and Weasley probably tuned her out a lot, letting her ramble on until they agreed to whatever just to quiet her.

“Thank you though,” he said with a slight hint of a smile, feeling genuinely grateful that she wasn’t raging at him again over his bad choices.

She returned the smile faintly if a bit hesitantly, squeezing his arm once before she finally let go. Draco wasn’t sure if this was a turning-point for them or not since things were still so fragile between them, and he honestly believed that they could never be more than reluctant allies that were forced together by unfortunate events. Though it seemed if Potter had a say, then Draco and Hermione had some issues to sort out between them before Draco could even call himself a reluctant ally.

“So…” Draco started, feeling awkward as none of them said anything.

“I don’t believe him by the way, since you asked. I don’t believe for a second they exhausted all the information and sources they had, but that we just aren’t a priority right now. As upset as I was yesterday about it, I have to remind myself there’s a war going just on our doorstep so I don’t blame Remus for not putting this first.”

Draco blinked up at Granger owlishly, feeling a heaviness in his chest lighten if only a little bit, “You do?”

Granger shrugged, “Yes. I mean, they’re brilliant aurors and all, but there are lots of books in the world and surely this must have happened before, right? There must be a way, _it just has to be_.”

“Then we should keep looking,” said Draco firmly without thinking then blinked in surprise at his own words, not sure where his sudden faith in Granger’s intuition had come from. Hadn’t he said just yesterday that the curse was unbreakable? He still believed that firmly, yet there was something within him that almost leaped with joy at the prospect of helping Granger with this – maybe it was his inner child longing for an adventure? Fuck if Draco knew, but at least he was being productive this way instead of loitering around the house all day, while also maybe, possibly, though most likely not, solving their mutual problem.

“…Right,” said Granger, then coughed politely, “But maybe first you should… Oh, I don’t know. Put on a pad before you ruin my trousers forever?”

Feeling his face heating up he ordered her outside, a sly smirk appearing on her face as the door slammed shut behind her. Draco tried to make quick work of the pads, throwing away the soiled paper he’d used while choking down a disgusted gag at the blood. He’d never been good with blood, which certainly didn’t make the situation any easier, but he tried to keep himself focused on the task at hand instead of thinking about what was actually happening to him right now. It made it a little bit easier as he inserted the pad into the dark knickers.

When he was finally done, Draco pushed open the door to the bathroom, his head hanging down and avoiding Granger’s eyes which for once wasn’t dark and upset which they seemed to have been ever since the switch happened, “I’d make some joke, but I feel like you’re beating yourself enough up over this as is,” she said, her voice matter-of-factly despite the twinkle in her eyes.

“Yeah,” he conceded, feeling disgusted and bloated as he hugged himself again. The pain seemed to have gone away for a while there while he and Granger had been talking, but had returned full-force now that he’d spent some time alone where his… problem had been so painfully obvious to him.

Granger seemed to finally take some sympathy on him, “It’ll be alright, Malfoy. It’ll be over in a few days, and it’s honestly the two first days that are the worst for me. Meanwhile, I have a hot water bottle in my bag if it gets really bad. Just let me know, yes?”

A wave of guilt washed over him, his previous thoughts about her generosity haunting him, “Granger, why are you being so nice to me? If our roles were reversed…”

 _Jokes on you, Malfoy, they already bloody fucking are – bad use of phrasing there_ , Draco shuddered to himself.

The girl in front of him looked at him thoughtfully, before she spoke, “Well, I’m not going to pretend my intentions aren’t entirely selfish, but I also know that it’s a scary situation, getting your period for the first time.”

Draco’s thoughts went directly to the dream he had that night, how Brown had pointed and laughed at his – Granger’s misfortune, and knew immediately that it must be what she was referring to. But how?

“And honestly,” she continued, interrupting his thoughts, “This seems to be affecting you a lot. You seemed so careless in the beginning, with all the mocking and the snarkiness, but it’s obviously affecting you just as much as me. It’s silly, but…”

She paused with a sigh, but before she finished her sentence Draco knew what she was going to say, “but we’ve only got each other,” he finished for her quietly, Potter’s words from last night ringing loudly in his ears.

Granger nodded solemnly, brushing back fine strands of blonde hair from her face, “Yeah. We’re pretty alone in this.”

Draco bit his lip reluctantly, “Granger, did Potter tell you anything? About me, I mean?”

She looked at him strangely, Potter clearly having acted as his usual dunderhead-self and failed to mention his offer to Draco to his friends.

“I can’t remember his words exactly, Potter being all over the place as usual so who would be able to keep track, but he offered me some sort of… companionship? Protection was his exact words, but I think he knows I’m perfectly capable of that myself,” said Draco shrugging, not mentioning that Granger still had his wand though he didn’t blame her for being cautious. They didn’t trust him after all, “anyway, we spoke last night about it, and I accepted his offer. Whatever that was. I just… thought you should know.”

An unreadable expression was on Granger’s face, her eyebrows were knitted together whether in confusion or a frown, Draco didn’t know, but after a brief second she shrugged, “Good, I guess. If Harry thinks it’s the right thing to do then it probably is,” she paused then nodded to herself as if she was confirming it in her mind, “I’m glad that he offered actually. It means there won’t be too much arguments in both of us coming along when we’re leaving.”

The words peaked Draco’s interested, but he stored the information for later rather than confronting her about it now. Being nosey when she was this friendly was looking a gift-horse in the mouth, and he was certainly not going to ruin that now that he needed her help.

“I guess,” Draco agreed, unsure what he actually was agreeing to, “I’m not sure Weasley will take this as well as you and Potter though. He’s not exactly the most reasonable out of you.”

“Oh, come off it. Ron’s an adult, he’ll understand,” she said with her voice full of confidence as she waved her hand at him dismissively.

Just as Draco was about to make a nasty remark about the Weasel’s maturity or rather lack of it, a loud yell erupted from downstairs, “You did what?!”

“You were saying, Granger?” 

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to make more progress story-wise in this, but apparently it has to wait until the next chapter. I rewrote the start of this like five times, and I'm still not quite happy with the ending here, so please give me some input and I might possibly change it after a wee while (but before next update!).
> 
> As always, let me know if you spot any major errors - I don't have a beta-reader, so I'm kind of relying on you guys to correct me if there's terrible writing in there (insert self-deprecating joke here).
> 
> And please leave a kudos or a comment! They're always greatly appreciated, whether they're positive or constructive!  
> Love you all B-)


	9. Sense of Me

Hermione was examining the contents of her beaded bag with a thoughtful frown. Now that they were one more person, her stock of food was quickly diminishing, even if that new addition didn’t particularly eat much at the moment due to feeling sick from period cramps. She had however discovered that Draco Malfoy’s body needed much more food than she’d initially thought and could eat like a horse despite his thin frame. It was like having another Ron in the house, which meant that her food supply needed to be restocked before they left Grimmauld Place again, which according to Harry should be very, very soon.

He and Ron had been spawning at the Ministry under the cloak for the past week, not letting her accompany them which they justified by saying they thought she needed more time to adjust to her and Malfoy’s body swap situation, though she suspected they simply found it too weird to hang around her when she was in the Slytherin’s body.

Ron was struggling with it the most, and while the ginger-haired boy was definitely trying to see past her current blonde, pointed face, he still seemed to have difficulties with talking to her like he normally would have. Of course, she understood this, but it was also frustrating and upsetting since for the past few months she’d felt like their friendship had started developing into something more which had been nice then, but now only meant it hurt more when he couldn’t even look at her at all.

Harry had an easier time adapting to her than Ron, which Hermione found a bit peculiar considering Malfoy and Harry’s history, but she decided not to question it. He was talking to her like he’d always had, and even if she noticed his eyes not always meeting hers she’d decided that it was better than Ron’s genuine but weak attempts at talking to her.

The most recent addition to their group was a whole another story. Malfoy was still as grouchy and snobbish as ever, if not even more so now that he was experiencing the joys of menstruation for the very first time. He’d mostly hidden away in his room for the past days, and when he did come out he would snap at the other boys if they made the slightest comment towards him. He did act slightly more tentative around Hermione however, and she suspected it was because she was the only one who understod and could help him what he was going through. He must be really scared if he was coming to her for help after all. And Malfoy telling her about Harry’s offer had come as a slight shock to her, but it had also motivated her to nourish the extremely fragile friendship between Malfoy and her if only to help herself get back in her proper body. Her anger and sadness that had been directed at the Slytherin the other night had not been forgotten, though she had effectively repressed it for the benefit of the others and also herself. They were not going to be effective in their mission and also finding a cure if they couldn’t cooperate without arguing, which she guessed had been some of Harry’s reasoning in offering Malfoy protection and thereby inclusion in their group.

She’d initially been quite annoyed with Harry about him going behind her and Ron’s backs on such an important subject, but it seemed that it was a reoccurring thing these days with the whole Ministry thing, and them whispering between themselves in the kitchen, and Harry sneaking around the house at night. He probably thought she hadn’t noticed and she wanted to ask him what he was doing, but the way things were between them these days she didn’t dare to think of what kind of response to expect.

The grandfather clock in the kitchen chimed, indicating that it was twelve o’clock in the afternoon, which meant that she couldn’t expect Ron and Harry back for another couple of hours. She hated being left behind, as it meant spending the day worrying over their safety while attempting to read the books on body-alterations and transfiguration in the library. She’d thoroughly examined the crystal Remus had brought with him the other night without success, and the books kept turning up useless as well, the only semi-similar incident even close to her and Malfoy’s being that of a man accidentally swapping his wife’s mind with a hat, which she suspected was mainly rubbish and hogwash anyway.

As distressing as the whole ordeal was, she’d found herself getting more used to Malfoy’s body and even enjoyed the extra few inches added to her height as it meant she wouldn’t have to ask anyone to reach a book standing on a tall shelf for her. Everything else was bad though, the biggest downside was of course the whole being a man thing, which she’d always been curious about but never actually thought she’d get to experience. Sure, she’d spent about an hour’s time worth as Harry that fateful night before the swap, but that had been Polyjuice and had felt entirely different as it was still _her_ in a way. Also, at the time it hadn’t even crossed her mind that she’d ever have to do such mundane yet now utterly traumatising things such as using the bathroom, or that one time a few days ago when she’d had that dream… These were definitely things she never wanted to know about the male anatomy, and especially Malfoy in particular. They barely knew each other, yet now after a couple of weeks as each other they also knew each other too intimately well. More than she knew anyone else, and it was disconcerting. She never wanted to know that he carried on the left, or that his body would practically start vibrating with unspent energy when he’d been sitting still for too long, or how the Sectumsempra scars marred his whole torso, starting on his face and all the way down to his hipbones. It had been horrifying to look at in its entirety the first time she’d removed the filthy shirt she’d worn at the start of this whole ordeal, and she’d spent a long while just tracing the purple and silver lines criss-crossing his body. It didn’t hurt, but the scar tissue felt sensitive beneath her fingertips as they carefully grazed the raised, damaged skin.           

Hermione shuddered at the memory, then rubbed at her eyes as she felt the emotional strain taking its’ toll on her psyche. She needed to get out of the house, otherwise she’d go mental.

Just then, Malfoy sauntered in all faked casualness and self-importance. She really didn’t understand why he was putting on the act since it was only the two of them and Kreacher in the house, but she decided to let him have his moment of arrogance if it made him stop whining about the woes of being a woman for ten minutes.

“Stop frowning so much, Granger, you’ll give me wrinkles before the age of 20,” he commented without any greeting, but it was without its’ usual malice.

“I’ll stop once this whole terrible situation is resolved,” she said, feeling irritable as her own thoughts kept assaulting her, “until then I will frown as much I deem suitable.”

Malfoy looked like he tried to raise a critical eyebrow, but she didn’t nearly have the same muscle control of her own eyebrow as he had of his, so it turned more into a strange grimace, “My, aren’t we touchy today.”

“I don’t see why you’re not to be honest,” she said tiredly, scrubbing at her face and feeling the slight scratch of stubble on her palms, “It’s been unusually long this month. You’ve probably still got another day or so to go.”

His face instantly darkened, “Don’t remind me, Granger.”

Hermione glanced over at the petite form hovering by the table, then gestured to the chair opposite her, inviting the boy to sit. Malfoy’s façade slipped slightly as he looked at the chair sceptically, but after a moment of hesitation sat down, crossing his arms almost defiantly. They’d barely spent any time alone enough to talk about things, but she was adamant that if they were going to make this cooperation work then they’d have to be able to speak with each other.

Without a word, she summoned the kettle with a flick of her wand, “Tea?” she asked, with an expectant look towards the Slytherin who shook his head in response, “Are you sure? It’ll help settle your tummy.”

“Fine.”

Hermione quickly summoned a mug alongside the steaming kettle, and prepared the tea. It wasn’t quite as nice tasting this way, but at least it was faster than the muggle-method and she had the cup set in front of the now brunette in a mere half-minute, “There you go,” she said, pleased with herself.

“Thanks,” he muttered and took a sip before making a face, then added two sugars. It was funny how quickly they were adapting to each other like that.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, watching him carefully as he gripped the green mug tightly.

Malfoy shrugged, “I’m alright. I mean, scarred for life still and will probably obliviate myself after this, but it’s getting better. It hurt the most the first couple of days anyway,” he took another sip of his tea, then set it down firmly as he said tight-lipped, “I can’t believe women go through this fucking shit every month. No wonder Pansy looked ready to chop my balls off when I made a joke about it in fourth year.”

For some reason, the image of Pansy furiously having a go at Malfoy about periods made Hermione chuckle, “It is how it is. It’s necessary after all, you know for reproducing and that.”

“But why does it have to be so much _blood_ ,” Malfoy shuddered, “It seems far too excessive in my opinion. Like, I don’t think I’ve bled this much before _ever_.”

Hermione was tempted to make a comment of Malfoy living a fairly cushioned, protected life, assuming he probably spent most of his childhood indoor being pampered by the Malfoy matriarch and house-elves alike, but then she remembered the scars criss-crossing his chest in a mess of bruised colours, and she felt inclined to object, “But what about…” she gestured to her own chest – his chest really, she supposed. She knew she was probably overstepping, but her own morbid curiosity on his thoughts on that night was urging her on.

There was a pause as Malfoy stared at her, his mug halfway lifted to his mouth which were open in a slight gape. His eyes were shifting quickly from her face, down to her covered torso, then back up again, as if just realising just now how much of him she’d actually seen. Maybe he had, just like her, tried not to think about it too much. Seeing him was bad enough, but the knowledge that he’d seen just as much of her was equally terrifying.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, his voice firm and final.

Hermione had to admit she was slightly disappointed, but she decided not to push, instead asking slightly petulantly, “Then what do you want to talk about?” 

His eyes turned sharply to hers, “How about you tell me whatever you’re planning. I mean, if I am being dragged along for this ride, then I want to know what I’m signing up for.”

“First of all, I am pretty sure you’re not being ‘dragged along’ as you so eloquently put it. I am actually pretty certain Ronald would do the exact opposite than that, if Harry hadn’t already offered that you could come with us. Secondly, it’s not my place to tell. Since Harry was the one talking to you about it, then he should also be the one to tell you, which I’m sure he will in his own time. Or not, up to him.”

Malfoy threw his arms up, obviously frustrated by this answer as she’d suspected he’d be, but apparently not for the reason she’d thought, “Seriously, what’s with you two! Potter told me to talk to you about this, and now you’re just sending me back to him like some bloody game of tag! Like, how do you expect me to be useful? I’m tired of sitting on my arse, and I’m even willing to help stupid Saint Potter if it means doing anything.”

Hermione couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, the outburst raising several questions in her mind, mainly, didn’t Malfoy have any sense of _moral_? _Loyalty_? It shouldn’t really have surprised her as much as it did, honestly, but she found herself staring in disbelief at him none the less.

“Oh, stop with the judging, Granger. If you absolutely have to know, I was thinking about our talk the other day, and,” Malfoy sighed heavily, like he was admitting to a heavy burden, “You’re right. Somewhat anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I will never stop caring for my family, but you’re right. Father watched the whole display of our… swap without any objection. I don’t blame him honestly, he probably thought it was the lesser of two evils.”

“I see,” Hermione said carefully, and took a tentative sip of her own tea, having a feeling he wasn’t finished with speaking. She was right of course.

Malfoy’s face hardened, with a determination she didn’t know he possessed, “But even so, I want to get them out of that house. Want to get my Mother out. I don’t give a shit about sides in this, I just want to get my parents out from there safe, even if it means working with you lot.”

Hermione understood perfectly well, even if she was slightly insulted by the fact he was so put off by her friends and herself. Thinking back to her bag that was severely lacking in food supply she made up her mind, “Fine. You want to help? Then you can come with me to the shop. And no complaining.”

“What?”

“Come with me to the shop. We need to stock up on food since your body is apparently insatiable, which is honestly shocking since you’re thin as a stick. Like, your wrist is about the same size as mine, but you’re like 5 inches taller than me.”

“Merlin, Granger! Stop whining, you’ve already ranted about this before! You’ve made your point, you are obviously dissatisfied with my body-type. Guess what, I’m not exactly happy either with your weird, girly hips and long, stupid hair that won’t stay in place or do anything I want it to!”

“I do not have weird hips!” Hermione shouted indignantly, slamming her mug onto the table. It was a trivial and ridiculous argument, but reflected the absurdity of their situation perfectly well, “Now, are you coming with me to the shop or not? I can and will leave you here if you continue to act like a prick!”

Malfoy’s cheeks tinted with pink, “I wasn’t the one who started it! But fine, I’ll come with you to do your stupid food-shopping! Fuck knows I need to leave this awful house before it drives me mental, or even worse, makes me think I’m actually you and not just wearing your short, girly body.”

“Fine!”

“Good!” 

...

“Will you stop looking so suspicious? People are staring,” Hermione hissed at the boy who was glancing around them warily as if someone was going to jump them any second. She was already regretting bringing Malfoy, who apparently had never set foot in muggle London before and kept jumping in fright every time a car went by. God knew what’d happen if she took him down to the Underground.

“I don’t trust them! Father always said muggles were dumb and dangerous, and –,”

“Malfoy, will you shut up about your idiotic, false prejudices! Your father has obviously filled your head with all sorts of blatant lies, and completely insane ones at that. Muggles are not that different from you or me, except they don’t have magic to help them in everyday life, so stop acting like an ignorant child and think for yourself for once!”

The Slytherin had stopped in the middle of the street with a sour look on his face, but before he could retort a businessman bumped into him, cutting him off as he rushed past in a hurry with a “Sorry Miss,” thrown over his shoulder at Malfoy.

“Don’t stop walking, you’re cutting of traffic,” Hermione said, feeling exasperated as the boy glared after the suit that had bumped into him with a hint of pink tinting his cheeks.

Malfoy huffed angrily, but thankfully resumed walking, this time next to her, “Why are they all in such a rush anyway?”

“I’m guessing lunch is just ending, so everyone is rushing back to work. And I think there’s quite a few offices not far from here, UCL got a lot of departments scattered around this area, and there’s a hospital right down that street,” Hermione said and pointed.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say Malfoy looked mildly impressed, “How do you know all this?”

“We lived in Hampshire when I was little, and from there it’s about an hour commute to London where my Mum worked. She took me quite a few times, and then when I got old enough I spent some time exploring London by myself. The reason I know this area so well is because UCL, one of the universities, is close by. It’s where my parents met, and I sometimes dreamt I’d get to go there someday too. That was before I knew of the Wizarding World of course, but,” She shrugged, not quite sure how she could explain to someone like Draco Malfoy that she still would have liked to go to a Muggle university someday, even just to try it.

“You miss this,” Malfoy observed, though instead of the disgust she’d been expecting to hear from him, he just sounded contemplative, “I think I can understand that, even if I don’t quite understand… this,” he said and gestured around himself.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what this moment between them meant. He was never this understanding, and she would never have shared such personal information before. It was like the curse made them confused of who they were speaking to, like they forgot that they were supposed to be enemies since the exterior was unfamiliar, or rather, too familiar.

Right then, they turned the corner, and Hermione felt slightly relieved as she spotted their destination, “We’re here!”

“Tesco?”

“It’s a small supermarket,” Hermione elaborated at Malfoy’s confused expression, as they went inside and grabbed a basket on the way, “Not a big one though, since it’s in the city centre. There are bigger ones closer by the city borders.”

Malfoy looked at her blankly.

“Since, you know, Muggles don’t have magic and can’t magically expand the inside of the shops.”

“Right.”

They walked down the aisles, Malfoy looking at all the bright, plastic packaging in wonder and slight disgust, while Hermione grabbed everything she could that might seem useful and wouldn’t go off instantly; cereal bars, tins of soup and beans, dried pasta, bottled water, chocolate and bandages for emergencies.

When they arrived at the last section with toiletries and hygiene products, Hermione came to an abrupt halt and spun around to look at Malfoy who was curiously inspecting the electric toothbrushes, “How many of the… pads that I gave you do you have left?”

Malfoy blushed, “I uh, don’t know? Three maybe?” he shifted uncomfortably and folded his arms, sounding defensive as he said, “Why, is that a problem?”

“No. Stop being overdramatic,” Hermione snapped and rolled her eyes, “I just wondered, since we’ll have to buy more. A lot more, since I can’t imagine that you’d fancy using the stock of tampons I’d originally brought with me.”

The way Malfoy’s blush deepened was all the answer Hermione needed, and she threw some packs in her basket. It was getting heavy, and for once she was grateful for Malfoy’s stronger body, otherwise carrying it would have been a struggle if she’d been herself.

They made it to the self-service checkout, and Hermione started putting things through the scanner, dumping each item into plastic bags that she knew would snap at the handles, but she just needed to make it around the corner so no muggle could see her putting the stuff in her bag with the extension-charm on it. Malfoy was watching the whole process curiously, but didn’t once offer to help, though she wasn’t quite sure if this annoyed her or not as it’d probably be more effort to instruct him on what to do than just do it herself.

Still, she thought grouchily, he could have _asked_.

“Oh dear,” someone said next to Hermione, and she turned around to see an elderly woman wearing a large, purple wool coat standing by the machine next to her, her face worried and confused, “this is no good at all.”

Curious as to why the woman had not just gone to the usual till, Hermione approached the woman despite Malfoy’s protest when he noticed she’d paused in her packing, “Excuse me,” Hermione said politely, catching the woman’s attention, “Could I help you with something?”

The elderly lady looked absolutely delighted, “Yes, thank you, dearie. That would be lovely. You see, I just can’t figure these new-fashioned machines out.”

“That’s quite alright. They’re quite unfamiliar to me too,” said Hermione, giving her most charming, disarming smile, and pressed some buttons on the screen, cancelling a few errors that the woman had made, “If you don’t mind me asking, why wouldn’t you just use the normal checkout? I’m sure they’d be delighted to help you.”  

The elderly woman tutted, her large, purple coat lifting up at the shoulders as she shook them, “I was only going to buy some milk and biscuits for my tea, you understand. So I thought I shouldn’t bother the young lady at the till with only a few things, because there’s already quite a line.”

“I see,” Hermione nodded understandingly, taking the five-pound note the woman offered her and fed it to the machine, “Well, I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded. It’s their job after all,” She slipped the biscuits and milk into the lady’s wheelie bag, “There you go! Here’s your receipt.”

“Oh thank you, lad. That’s awfully kind of you.”

Hermione felt her stomach drop unpleasantly, but she kept the pleasant smile on her face as she said, “Really, it was no trouble at all.”

“Still,” the woman said knowingly, like she was despairing over the youth of today all in that single word, “Thank you, it was very kind of you to help an old woman such as I. But I think you better get back to your lady-friend. She’s looking quite impatient.”

The fact that the elderly woman had just called Malfoy her lady-friend made Hermione snort with laughter, and overshadowed that she’d just been called lad herself.

“Oh, we’re not a rush,” Hermione said, her voice full of badly concealed humour, “Though I’d better get back to her, otherwise I might get an earful.”

The woman laughed, her skin crinkling at the corner of her eyes as she smiled, “I understand, lad. Go back to your friend. I hope the two of you have a lovely day!”

“You too!” Hermione responded, then walked back to her own checkout only to discover that Malfoy had scanned the rest of the items and put them in bags. The only thing that was left was paying.

“You,” she said, unable to conceal the surprise in her voice, then pointed to the bags, “packed these?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her, “It’s not advanced arithmancy, Granger. Stop being overdramatic.”

Hermione ignored the way he’d thrown her own comment back at her, still baffled and amazed that Malfoy had figured out how the self-checkout worked. To her it was quite an obvious process, but she was pretty certain they didn’t have barcodes or scanners or anything of the sort in the Wizarding World, so Malfoy shouldn’t really have the context clues or anything to help him understand how the machine worked.

“I mean,” she started, as she paid for their supplies, “That’s good. Thank you. I just didn’t expect you to grasp how it worked that fast, if I’m honest. How did you?”

Malfoy shrugged, though a hint of discomfort was slowly becoming visible beneath his nonchalant attitude, “I don’t know. I just… knew? It sounds stupid, I know, but…”

Hermione locked eyes with him, unsure, “You just… knew?”

“Yes. I guess.” 

“I think we should get back to the house. We’ve been away for quite some time.” Hermione said, feeling a sense of urgency and grabbed the few bags they had before rushing out of the shop, taking a sharp turn down a narrow side-street. 

Hermione was worrying her lip as she walked quickly down the street, trying to find a spot so she could cast a concealing-charm on them, then Apparate back to Grimmauld Place. She had planned to go find a clothes shop to get herself some more well-fitting clothes too, but it seemed unwise to stay in the Muggle world any longer if it… what? Triggered some of her memories in Malfoy? Was that what this was?

“Granger, slow down!” She heard her own voice call from behind, accompanied by the sound of light footsteps slapping against the concrete in a jog in an attempt to keep up with her longer strides. She hadn’t even noticed she’d sped up so much that he struggled to stay in pace with her.

She stopped briefly so he managed to catch up with her, slightly out of breath, “Merlin, you’re out of shape…” He huffed, and pushed long strands of hair that had fallen in his face away with a distasteful expression, “Aren’t you overreacting a bit? I mean, do you really find it that far-fetched that I managed to figure it out by myself? I know you have a tendency to look down at everyone from your high pedestal, but –,”

She spun around to face him, annoyed and stressed, “Malfoy, if I wanted to insult your intelligence, there are a hundred other ways I would have gone about it, believe me. Now,” She said, pushing all their groceries into her beaded bag and offered him her arm, “Grab on, you’re side-alonging with me.”

A glare so fierce it was undeniably Malfoy behind the girlish face was directed in Hermione’s direction, before he stomped over and laced his arm with hers with a grimace. Hermione could make a fairly educated guess as to why, as she found it equally strange that she was actually walking arm in arm with herself, but she decided not to mention it, worry still gnawing at her.  

Hermione was just about to focus on Apparating them back to Grimmauld Place when someone dug a sharp elbow into her side, “Hey, shouldn’t you cast a bloody disillusion charm so the Death Eaters don’t see us and decide to play a game of deadly tag? I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer not to end up in tiny Granger pieces on the pavement, thanks,”

Growling, Hermione lashed out her wand without answering and cast the charm. He was right of course. It would have been devastating if they just Apparated onto the doorstep in full daylight, and the fact that she hadn’t thought of that but Malfoy had was not only embarrassing but only served to annoy her further.

“Happy?”

A smirk was the only response she received before she Apparated them with an eyeroll at the Slytherin’s antics, landing heavily on the doorstep and stumbling through the old door which slammed shut behind them.

“Did they notice us?”

Hermione rushed to the window and pushed back the curtains, only to discover there weren’t any Death Eaters patrolling the street, which was strange as they’d been persistently walking up and down the neighbourhood ever since Malfoy and she had gotten here in June and it was now well into August. She frowned to herself, her sense of unease increasing a tenfold. If they weren’t there, then where else could they be? Had Voldemort ordered them to stop patrolling here? He wouldn’t be so careless as just throwing away a chance of capturing Harry like this though, surely. Snape had definitely told him about the Order’s headquarters, there was no way that Voldemort would risk not keeping it under surveillance.

“Granger,”

A warm hand being placed on her arm made her jump in fright and she spun around to come face-to-face with Malfoy, whose freckles were standing in contrast with his pale skin and whose curly hair was in disarray from Apparition. He was wearing a worried frown, which Hermione had a sense of was an expression she’d usually wear herself.

“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands defensively, “Calm down, Granger, it’s just me. You got lost in thought there for a second. Is everything alright?”

Hermione couldn’t put a finger on it, but things were definitely not alright. She opened her mouth to tell the boy so, when there was a loud bang at the door, making both of them jump in fright.

“Get down!” Hermione whispered furiously, grabbing a hold of Malfoy’s smaller body and pushing him down along with her as she hid behind the plush couch that was in the living room. 

“What the fuck was that?” Malfoy hissed quietly at her, his breath coming out in quick, anxious puffs that Hermione could feel on her neck. They were entirely too close to each other, but neither dared to move.

“I don’t know,” She admitted, and drew her wand, preparing for whatever would come through the door, “But I’m sure we’ll find out in a second.”

“If you would just give me my wand, then I’d could –,”

Whatever Malfoy was about to say next was interrupted by the entrance door being thrown open with a loud bang, as two figures wearing clothes three sizes too large stumbled in, their wands drawn and pointing at a stunned Death Eater laying on their doorstep.

“Oh my God, Harry, Ron!” Hermione hear herself gasp, running over to them, “What happened!?”

Harry looked up at her, his emerald eyes shining with determination and urgency, then they shifted over to Malfoy who was hovering in the doorway to the living room and staring at the stunned wizard, “We have to leave! Now!”

There was another large bang outside, this sounding very much like an explosion, followed by shouting and the familiar cracking sound of multiple Apparitions.

“Go with Ron! I will take Malfoy!”

Hermione nodded curtly, finding herself unable to argue as more voices started appearing and shouting. She rushed over to Ron who still had his wand trained at the frozen Death Eater, which she now recognised as Yaxley. As much as she wanted to ask questions, for instance, what the bloody hell had just happened? She found herself grabbing a hold of Ron, whose eyes snapped to hers.

“Ron,” she said firmly, sounding more calm than she felt capable of as she squeezed his arm tightly, “We need to leave. Yaxley will wake up any second and let everyone else on the outside know we’re here.”

There was the sound of a crack behind her as Harry and Malfoy Apparated away, and Hermione’s stomach lurched with worry. What if Ron didn’t snap out of it? It seemed like him and Harry had done a lot more planning than she initially thought, and apparently where they’d meet up in case something like this happened must have been one of their plans, but couldn’t they have let her in on it at least? She couldn’t be of any help if they didn’t tell her anything! They were treating her like… like… Malfoy.

A sense of hurt washed over her, but instead of letting herself drown in it she used to fuel her anger and fear, “Ronald Weasley, snap out of it! We have to leave right this second!” She had him by the collar now, shaking him furiously, “I swear, Ronald. If we die because of you –,”

Right then, the figure on the floor lurched to life, lunging at them in a flurry of black robes, making Hermione scream in fright and shut her eyes, but instead of the impact she had been expecting, there was an uncomfortable tug at her navel as everything spun around her except for the strong arms wrapped around her, before she landed on damp undergrowth with a pained groan.

Hermione stared up at the blue skies, barely visible through the dense vegetation, not having any sense of anything that was going on around her as she laid on the forest floor. Hermione thought she could hear voices shouting close by, but she couldn’t register any of the words they were saying. They were all muffled, as if she had cotton in her ears.

A girl’s face appeared in her field of vision, blocking out the blue skies above Hermione. The girl’s lips were moving, her eyes wide as they strayed from Hermione’s face to someone Hermione couldn’t see. The girl, with her dark curly hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a hairbrush in days, and chocolate-coloured, large eyes, seemed familiar to Hermione, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“She’s in shock!” Hermione could hear a man’s voice say, though the words didn’t hold any meaning to her as a sense of calm spread its way through her body, letting her sink further into the soft forest floor beneath her, “Oh Merlin, there’s so much blood…”

“Granger, can you hear me? Granger?!" The girl was closer now, shouting her right in the face, which Hermione very much would have disapproved of if she wasn’t so very tired and unable to respond, “Answer me for fuck sake! Hermione!”

The blue skies above darkened and her vision began to blur, and the last thing Hermione saw before she slipped out of consciousness was the face of a boy with fair blonde hair whose expression was twisted with emotions Hermione couldn’t interpret before everything went black around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So this is a bit longer because I am terrible at ending things when I should haha. Also, I'm aware that self-checkouts weren't really a big thing before the 2000's (though they did start appearing in shops in the 90's... I've done my research), but I hope this one can slide as we're talking a few years difference lol. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Things are starting to get serious, and I'm moving things along quicker than I'd originally intended, but I need to keep things interesting and fresh. As you can tell, I've started changing up quite a few things now, which I'd love to get some feedback on. Does it work or not? Is there loads of typing and grammar errors? Do you have positive things to say? I'd love to know! 
> 
> As always, kudos and feedback is always appreciated B-)


	10. Night in the Woods

“How is she doing?”

Malfoy barely glanced over at Harry who was standing hovering by the tent’s entrance awkwardly, before he turned back to tend to the long, slender body which was lying unconscious on top of one of a makeshift mattresses Hermione had brought with them in her bag.

“She’ll be fine,” Malfoy muttered, and carefully lifted up a bloodied bandage revealing a half-healed wound stretching over pointed hipbone, which made Harry feel slightly sick, “She didn’t get Splinched where there were any vital organs or main arteries thankfully, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to stop the bleeding.”

Harry attentively watched as Malfoy worked with nimble fingers, muttering to himself as he replaced the soiled bandage with a fresh one. The display itself wasn’t all that curious, as Hermione had always been a caring person and willing to help anyone she thought was in need of it, but the knowledge that it was actually Draco Malfoy bustling about with a worried frown as he tended to Hermione’s wound was utterly surreal.

“What do you want?” The Slytherin snapped eventually, catching Harry in staring even though he hadn’t even realised he had been doing so.

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly, blushing, “Just… thinking.”

Malfoy raised a sceptical eyebrow, “I guess there’s a time and place for everything… What’s next? Is Wealsey going to grow a pair of balls and ask Granger out?” At Harry’s surprised look, Malfoy huffed, “Oh come off it, Potter. Anyone with two eyes could see how he’s drooling all over her. Well, _was_ anyway.”

Harry was well-aware, as there had been enough drama about that last year when Ron had dated Lavender for God knew what reason, and he found himself in the utterly surreal position of agreeing with the Slytherin, though it wasn’t like he would ever say so out loud. Deciding to change the topic before he admitted to something he might regret, Harry instead asked a question that gnawed at him ever since they’d arrived in the forest and Hermione had a gaping wound in her side, “That spell you used…”

Malfoy barely paused in applying the bandages as his eyes flickered up to the scars criss-crossing his chest, before quickly returning back down to be firmly trained on his work. “Snape taught it to me. You know, after…” he muttered with a forced casual shrug, “though it isn’t quite as effective as I hope it’d be. Don’t know if that’s because I am not very familiar with the incantation or because I had to use Granger’s wand. Either way, she’ll have trouble walking properly for a few days, but except for some intense scarring she’ll be fine in the long run. Or I’ll be, whatever.”

Said wand was currently laying on a small stool on top of badly folded clothes that Harry had cleaned the blood out of using one of those nifty spells Mrs. Weasley had taught him last time he’d been in the Burrow. It seemed like such a long time ago, even though it had only been a few weeks back. So much had happened since then, the heavy weight of Salazar’s locket hanging on a chain around his neck only serving as a reminder of that.

“Fuck sake,” Malfoy growled quietly, snapping Harry out of his thought.

“Everything alright?”

“No, it’s this stupid hair! It gets in the way of everything!” Malfoy said angrily, tossing his head to the side in an attempt to get it out of his face as he fiddled with fastening the bandage, and continued muttering to himself, “I swear, if Granger wouldn’t kill me for chopping it off, I would have done so a long time ago.”

Harry had a strong suspicion that it wasn’t really the hair that was bothering the other boy, who had been even more irritable and ill-tempered since they’d set up camp. As much as Harry wanted to be indignant of Malfoy’s behaviour following Hermione’s loss of consciousness, he found that he couldn’t hold the Slytherin’s foul mood against him. Like honestly, how could Harry blame Malfoy when he’d ultimately saved their friend, even if it had probably been mostly for his own benefit?

“Can I…help with anything?” Harry asked, feeling awkward as Malfoy kept tossing on his head and muttering angrily to himself.

“Help with what, exactly? I told you Granger will be just fine, so unless you’re offering to braid my fucking hair, then go be a martyr somewhere else.”

Despite his intention of good-will and patience, Harry felt his resolve was wearing thin after the long terrible day he had been having, and he found himself pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly, “I am just trying to be helpful, but you apparently wouldn’t know kindness or anything of the sort even if it bit you in the arse, Malfoy, so forget I even asked.”

Malfoy spun around on his heel to scowl at Harry, “I can’t really imagine you care about making sure my body doesn’t acquire any lasting damage, Potter. In fact, if I recall correctly it’s quite the opposite. So, do excuse me for taking certain precautions.”

Harry blanched, his attention snapping to the unconscious body on top of the cot, where barely healed Sectumsempra scars were littering a bare, flat chest that was raising shallowly up and down with each breath. A wave of guilt washed over Harry, knowing that he’d almost killed the other boy with that spell, and if it hadn’t been for Snape, Malfoy would have been dead now, having bled out on the bathroom floor, because of Harry.

His eyes drifted slowly back to Malfoy who was standing there with his chin held up defiantly. Harry, feeling utterly overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, wasn’t sure what kind of expression he was wearing, but it made Malfoy sneer at him, “What, Potter? Did I hurt your precious feelings or something?”

“Do you have to be such a bastard about everything?” Harry snapped half-heartedly as the guilt built up within him.   

“Yes! I find that it helps!”

“Helps how? By making sure no one ever wants to speak with you again?”

Malfoy looked more worked up than ever as he threw his arms around himself, “Because –,” he started, struggling for words, making his face twist frustration, “Because – you keep treating me like someone else! Like, Granger!”

Malfoy finished with a cry, like this was something he’d been dwelling on for a long time, and Harry couldn’t help but blink incredulously at the Slytherin. If the Slytherin thought this was how he treated Hermione, then he obviously knew them less than Harry had initially thought… he supposed he had been more considerate towards him, but that was because he’d honestly felt bad for the boy, who had been so carelessly tossed aside by his own people because he couldn’t go through with killing Albus Dumbledore. In a way, they were quite alike in that prospect, that they were both forced into a position they didn’t want. And also, he’d promised. Harry had never once considered it was because Malfoy now looked like Hermione.

“I didn’t… Malfoy, I’m just trying to be friendly. Because I said I would. Remember? I’m just trying to keep the peace.”

With an annoyed huff, Malfoy crossed his arms in what appeared as a weak attempt to compose himself to Harry, “I know that, I’ve not forgotten,” he muttered still sounding aggravated, glancing over his shoulder at Hermione, “You have to understand, this situation is difficult enough as it is. It’s like… I just want to be treated like I am still me. And I’m sure Granger wants that too.” Malfoy sighed and shook his head, “It’s stupid and childish, but I just wish things back to how they were.”

Harry shook his head, and fiddled with the hem of the worn shirt he was wearing as he thought about those words. He could understand the sentiment somewhat, thinking back to his own experiences with the Dursleys and their terrible treatment of him over the years even after he’d started Hogwarts. Harry doubted Malfoy would appreciate that comparison though, or any similarities Harry could draw between them, so instead he said, “It’s not stupid to wish for normality. I can’t begin to comprehend what it must be like… if it’s any comfort, I think the two of you are handling this a lot better than anyone could or should.”

Malfoy went silent and kept his eyes on his own resting body as he chewed on his bottom lip. He looked so perfectly like Hermione herself when she was deep in thought that if it wasn’t for their current conversation topic, Harry might have forgotten who he was talking to which was fairly ironic, he quickly realised and wanted to hit himself for his own lack of insight. 

“Listen Potter,” Malfoy said, and pushed himself off the cot which he had been leaning against, “I understand I’m your latest pity project or whatever, but if this is about when you saw me in the bathroom back at the house –,”

“It’s not,” Harry interrupted quickly before Malfoy could say anything else about the matter, feeling horrified as he blushed furiously at the memory. He’d done his best to put it in the back of his mind, not wanting to think about what he’d seen, and he’d been quite successful until that point. However, the images of Draco hunched over the toilet crying flashed before his eyes, and Harry felt slightly sick and guilty. If it hadn’t been for witnessing that moment, Harry would say the Slytherin was coping perfectly fine.

“Okay, whatever. If you say so.” Malfoy huffed with an eye-roll, obviously not wanting to talk about it as much as Harry did, “Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing!” Harry didn’t understand Malfoy’s obsession with knowing everything. He was almost as bad as Hermione, just ruder about it. 

“Nothing? Potter, we just barely escaped a bunch of Death Eaters who somehow got into your house, and now Granger is badly hurt. You call that nothing? You’re acting all guilty and shit – what the fuck is going on?”

Harry hesitated, knowing he couldn’t tell Malfoy anything. Dumbledore certainly wouldn’t approve of it, and Harry hadn’t even told Remus, who was much more trustworthy. No, he certainly couldn’t tell the other boy, because what if he and Hermione got changed back despite everything and he ran back to Voldemort afterwards? It certainly seemed unlikely, but maybe Malfoy was right, that Harry forgot who he was talking to most of the time. 

“Listen, I get that you lot don’t trust or like me, and consider the feelings reciprocated,” Malfoy whispered harshly, barely an arm’s length away now, having approached Harry while he was deep in thought, “but I’m being dragged along on some forsaken quest I don’t know anything about, putting my life at risk at that. I think I deserve to know what the fuck the three of you’ve been doing, or at least what I’m signing up for here.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the demand, and was about to plainly tell the Slytherin where he could shove it if he thought he had any right to anything, when Ron walked into the tent, his face going from worried to curious as he spotted the two standing nose to nose glaring at each other.

With a final glare in Harry’s direction, Malfoy took a step back and only then had Harry noticed how close they’d been standing.

“Is she going to be alright?” Ron said, thankfully having chosen to ignore the tense atmosphere in the room, his gaze trained on Hermione on the other side of the tent. 

“Your precious girlfriend will be fine, Weasley.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Ron said earnestly and passed the two of them slowly, then hesitated as he got to the bedside where Hermione was lying unconscious before he knelt down next to her and grabbed her hand. 

Harry didn’t miss the way Malfoy’s face screwed up in disgust, probably at the thought of Ron holding his hand so intimately, but Harry just felt uncomfortable as his friend sat quietly next to Hermione and stared at her anxiously.

Deciding that Ron needed some time alone, Harry urged Malfoy out of the tent by nudging him in the shoulder, which earned Harry another heated glare. Thankfully, Malfoy didn’t need to be told twice as he brushed past him as he went outside, snapping the tent flaps shut behind him angrily, though Harry couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to make tent flaps do that.

Casting a last furtive glance at the redhead tightly gripping Hermione’s now long, pale hand, Harry slipped out behind Malfoy, who is walking away from their little camp in a hurried pace. 

“Where are you going?” Harry called after the retreating back, “You need to stay inside the protective barriers!”

“I don’t _need_ to do anything, you prick!”

Harry sighed frustrated to himself. So, they were really back to this, were they? “Fine! Do you want to get taken by Snatchers, be my guest!” Knowing he didn’t really want Malfoy to be taken away, Harry stomped after the Slytherin, “What are you trying to achieve, Malfoy? You don’t have your wand, and –,”

“What I’m trying to achieve, Potter,” Malfoy came to an abrupt halt and spun around, the late evening and the shadows from the trees barely making the snarl on his face visible in the darkness, “Is get away from you. Honestly, don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around, like be in that tent with Weasley and grieve over Granger? Or are you seriously that much of a masochist that you want you subject yourself to my company? Don’t think I’ve not noticed you loitering around me the past week.”

Harry frowned down at the now brunette. It wasn’t like Malfoy to act like this – sure, he was mean and rude and maybe even a bit of a lunatic Harry suspected, but he was usually more cool and collected, and certainly would never be this self-deprecating. That required a sliver of insight and reflective skill which the Slytherin had never displayed in past or present. Just as Harry thought this, Malfoy’s words sunk in, and Harry felt heat spread across his cheeks. It was true that he’d been keeping an eye out on the other boy ever since Harry had promised he’d help him, but he hadn’t thought Malfoy had noticed. It wasn’t like he hung around constantly, he simply… went for walks around the house and would bump into him. And it wasn’t like they _talked_ or anything, not often at least, but Malfoy would shoot him suspicious looks, and… oh god, Harry was an idiot, Malfoy had to think he was stalking him out of distrust, when he was in actuality trying to make sure Malfoy was doing okay.

“Oh God,” Harry groans, horrified with himself and Malfoy, “Do you think – Malfoy, I’m not… like I told you, I’m trying to be nice – friendly, to you.” 

“You don’t have to trail after me like some lost puppy to be nice to me. Actually, it would be a lot nicer of you to leave me the fuck alone,” Malfoy snapped, then spun on his heel and started striding down a steep slope muttering to himself.

Harry watched as the boy walked away feeling dumb and silly, and slightly hurt for some reason, yet he heard himself say to the retreating back, “Don’t walk too far.”

Malfoy didn’t answer and soon he was out of Harry’s field of vision. Maybe Malfoy was right, that Harry was treating him more like Hermione, the worry he felt now that he couldn’t see the Slytherin anymore feeling very similar to how he felt when his friend was in trouble.

Sitting down on a conveniently placed log next to him, Harry scrubbed at his face in utter exhaustion. It had been a long day, and with the added worry of Hermione nearly getting ripped in half and Malfoy acting like a prat, Harry could definitely feel it wearing down on him. He could still sense a painful twinge of soreness from one of the relatively harmless jinxes a Death Eater had hit him with, and that his arm was starting to bruise where Yaxley had grabbed onto him right before he and Ron had Apparated back to Grimmauld’s place. Harry could still see Umbridge’s furious face whenever he closed his eyes.

Despite the fatigue though, Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to rest properly. He felt guilty for not letting Hermione in on Ron and his plans, knowing he was the reason that they’d lost the luxury of having an unplottable headquarters, and the reason Hermione was hurt. And now Malfoy had another large scar that wouldn’t go away, because Harry had made another poor decision. The very visible scars already covering large parts of the Slytherin’s chest was only a testament to a long line of those it seemed. 

Harry frowned to himself, knowing he could do nothing for Hermione right now who already had Ron waiting patiently by her side, but maybe he could at least do some right by the stubborn git that was Malfoy by being the one waiting patiently for him to come back. Besides, Harry told himself, someone had to keep lookout, so really, sitting here keeping an eye out for Malfoy was really just a by-product of that.

And so, Harry sat. 

...

It felt like hours later to Harry when a sudden, bone-chilling cold descended, snapping him out of his bored daze. Shooting up to his feet he cast a quick _Tempus_ , only to realise that barely half an hour had passed, meaning it was still far too early in the evening for the temperature to drop that dramatically. It was with a horrible sense of familiarity that Harry recognised the freezing feeling that made his breath come out in cold puffs, though he couldn’t spot any Dementors nearby and the protective barriers he and Ron had set up earlier should keep them out, but…

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked around himself widely, trying to spot the blonde – dark haired, bushy head anywhere nearby, but with the exception of the small, yellow tent emitting a warm glow, nothing seemed to disturb the forest scenery, and Harry had an awful sinking feeling in his gut as he realised Malfoy was still wandering around alone in the woods with Dementors closing in with no wand or any other way to protect himself.

“Malfoy!” Harry shouted desperately into the darkness of the trees, but the sound only echoed faintly before disappearing completely with no answer.

As his worry and fear increased, Harry set into a sprint down the mossy slope away from their camp, his wand drawn as his eyes roamed over the terrain in hopes of spotting Malfoy sulking somewhere nearby.

“Don’t you fucking die, you prick,” Harry muttered to himself as he ran, knowing that if Malfoy managed to get himself killed then Hermione would never be able to return to herself, and Harry would break his promise to help protect that ungrateful bastard.

“Malfoy!” he called for the boy again while he ran, wishing he knew a tracking spell or something of the sort, so he wouldn’t have to run around blind. Hermione would have known what to do – what would Hermione do?

With a flash of clarity, Harry sent up red sparks to signal danger, hoping to God or Merlin or what the fuck that no one else but them and the Dementors was out in the woods at this time of night. Maybe Ron would see it, and why hadn’t he gotten Ron while he was at the camp? Harry cursed his rashness, knowing his friend would have been of great help right now.

But no, he was alone, and he would just have to deal with it. It was better that Ron was watching out for Hermione anyway, in case something happened at the camp, Harry told himself.

What sounded like a faint noise made Harry halt in his tracks and strain his hearing, unsure if he had imagined it out of pure wishful thinking, or – no, there it was again, Harry was sure of it, and he swivelled off to the left towards the noise that was much closer now.

“Drac –,”

Someone crashed into Harry’s side, having appeared from behind the dense foliage of the trees, effectively knocking the air out of him.

“Potter,” Malfoy said breathlessly like he’d been running a marathon. His face was a ghostly white, Hermione’s freckles standing out in stark contrast with pale, clammy skin. He looked utterly terrified.

“Potter, there’s…” he gasped for air, his head whipping back and forth as he surveyed the air around them, though the heavy darkness that seemed to have settled around them appeared to smother any possible source of light, making it impossible to see past a few feet. 

Harry, sensing Malfoy’s panic, grabbed the Slytherin’s wrist firmly in hopes of being able to calm him, “I know,” he said with forced composure he didn’t really feel, staring imploringly into Malfoy’s chocolate brown eyes, “It’ll be alright. I know the Patronus charm, they won’t be able to come near us, but we need to –,”

The cold Harry had sensed before magnified a tenfold, settling itself deep into his bones like a frost that would never disappear, and Harry felt all air leave his own lungs. Black, ragged shadows started appearing between the trees, and Harry could feel the awful, suffocating influence of the Dementors bearing down at him, his Mother’s scream echoing faintly in his head.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” He shouted, his wand aimed directly at the shadow, but the tip of his wand merely flickered with silver before fizzling out again, and Harry stared at it dumbly in shock for a moment.

Malfoy’s grip tightened on his arm, as they both stumbled backwards, the shadows descending on them, and Harry forced himself to focus – he was merely not focusing on a happy thought enough, that was it. Seeing Hermione as herself again, seeing all the Weasleys, being surrounded by friends…

Harry drew a deep breath, letting himself be completely be submerged in the thought of familiarity and closeness, before he aimed and repeated with a shout, “ _Expecto Patronum!”_

This time, the wand lit up with silver light, but not anywhere close to the full corporeal form of his stag that he had expected. Terror settled into Harry along with the freezing cold of the Dementors. Why couldn’t he summon his Patronus? His Mother’s screams intensified in his head, but he forced himself to stay conscious as he felt Malfoy’s grip on his going from firm to painful.

“Harry!”

Harry hadn’t even realised Malfoy had been shouting at him before then, and he snapped his attention to Malfoy, who was staring at the large wraith-like creatures gliding towards them slowly.

Before he realised what he was doing, Harry showed his wand at Malfoy. “You do it!” he managed to choke out, despite his vision blurring along the edges as unconsciousness threatened to take over.

Malfoy looked at him petrified, his large eyes staring at Harry like he’d lost his marbles, “I – I don’t know how!”

“Think of a happy memory! The incantation is _Expec –_ ,”

Harry was cut short as a long, skeletal hand grasped for them, but Malfoy stumbled backwards with his grip still strong onto Harry, resulting into both of them sprawling across the cold, damp forest floor. The impact knocked whatever air that was left out of Harry and he felt himself rapidly losing grip with reality.

A small hand clamped down on Harry’s wrist though, snapping him back to the present just as cloak-clad figures descended upon them.

 “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Malfoy’s now female voice quivered badly as he shouted, yet despite the passion he put behind the incantation the wand didn’t as much as give a spark of silver, “ _Expecto Patronum!”_ he shouted again, though Harry barely heard it over the intense screaming in his head now.

Harry wasn’t a person to give up, but he really couldn’t see a way out of this. Ron was with Hermione, at least they were safe, but it was an entirely different story for him and Malfoy who was about to get their souls drained out from them just because Harry wasn’t able to summon his Patronus. As his vision started to swim and darken once again, he faintly heard Malfoy desperately shouting out the charm again. It had been foolish perhaps, to think that Malfoy could conjure a Patronus on his first try, but –

A large silver light erupted around them, almost blinding in intensity, and Harry had to squeeze his eyes shut because of it. Loud screeches surrounded them, but Harry realised that they no longer were in his head but rather the Dementors fleeing the scene as the silver Patronus charged towards them, running around them in loops, and chasing them away.

Baffled, Harry propped himself upon his forearms and turned his head to stare at Malfoy in amazement. Had the Slytherin really managed to summon a corporeal Patronus on his first try? Was he that skilled?

But Malfoy met his eyes just as shocked, wand still clutched tightly in his fist, but it wasn’t emitting any sort of magic to explain the fully corporeal, silver animal running around the forest floor. He shook his head slowly, his mouth moving trying to form words, clearly as stunned as Harry felt.

They laid there staring incomprehensibly at each other for a brief moment, before turning back to the Patronus which was slowly dissipating now that the Dementors were gone. Harry squinted, trying to discern some sort of shape through the muddled thoughts he was experiencing as an effect of the Dementors. It kind of looked like… but before he could fully form the thought, the Patronus had disappeared, and him and Malfoy were left alone in the blackness of the night, both breathing heavily.

As much as Harry wanted to laugh out of pure relief over having survived another brush with death, a horrible thought occurred to him. “Malfoy,” he said quietly, though it was enough for the Slytherin to snap his abrupt attention to Harry, “It wasn’t you who conjured that Patronus, was it?”

Normally, Malfoy would probably had sneered at such an idiotic question, but apparently almost dying toned down the boy’s snarkiness quite a bit as he answered earnestly, “It wasn’t me.”

Harry felt a new dread settle within him, “There’s someone else here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long in getting this up, I've been away a lot recently (easter holiday etc), and this chapter just wouldn't write itself for some reason.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it none the less! 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated B-)


	11. Something Good

Draco was standing in the draft of the tent’s entrance, tightly hugging himself to try to get rid of the unbearable cold that had settled within him ever since he and Potter had almost had their souls sucked out of them by Dementors. He was still tightly clutching Potter’s wand, having forgotten to return it in the confusion and panic following the Dementors being chased away, and Potter rushing them both back to camp. Draco was shaking badly, and his grip on the wand tightened, its presence being for some inexplicable reason a small comfort from the cold inside of him. 

He briefly considered of casting a heating charm, but quickly dismissed the idea as he did not want to draw the attention of Weasley and Potter who were arguing loudly between themselves in the middle of the large tent. They seem entirely indifferent to the fact that Granger was still resting unconscious a few feet away from them, and that Draco was standing hearing every single word that was being said. 

“You wouldn’t have ever bumped into the Dementors if you weren’t chasing after him!” Weasley was saying harshly, the tips of his ears already turning an angry pink and would probably soon spread and colour his face like that of a tomato.

Potter’s mouth twisted, though he was obviously trying to compose himself as to not lash out at his friend, “First of all, the Dementors would have found the camp if they hadn’t chased after Malfoy. Secondly, I didn’t tell you this so you could be angry with him, I’m telling you because we have to move the camp. There’s someone out there, Ron!” 

That had been a really worrying revelation to him and Potter when they’d finally gotten over their shock. Whoever was out there had saved them from a fate worse than death, yet it was alarming that they didn’t make their presence known afterwards. It could be anyone; Snatchers, Death Eaters, vigilantes…. and they could only assume they had bad intentions, because relying on strangers nowadays was not only naïve and dumb, but practically a death sentence in itself.  

Yet, Draco thought and shifted his attention back to the ongoing fight between the two idiots who were still yelling at each other, this lot had chosen to trust him enough to bring him with them for some reason. Didn’t they realise how dangerous he could potentially be to them?  

“Harry, I know you’re thinking you’re saving Malfoy or whatever, but we can’t trust him!”

“You certainly didn’t seem to mind him when he saved Hermione! She’s still alive thanks to him!”

It was strange hearing Potter trying to defend him for once, usually it was Draco who was at the receiving end of Potter’s temper and that with good reason. Draco had intentionally given the other boy and his friends a hard time, and he could admit to himself that he had at times been downright cruel, especially to Granger.

Draco’s gaze drifted over to his own lifeless body lying on top of the thin and wiry mattress that was probably going to kill his back, his thoughts focusing on the girl that was currently inhabiting said body. Ever since Granger had so rudely burst back into his life at the end of the summer, she’d been acting more gracious towards him than he deserved. Not only because he’d always behaved like an arsehole towards her in the past, but also because of their current situation. She tried to make him comfortable despite everything, yet he never returned the gesture. But what could he possibly do for someone like her, who despite everything the world threw at her always came out on top, when he had been the one who made all the wrong choices for the right reasons?

 _Talk to her about this_ , his mind supplied, _it’s a start_ … though Draco really doubted that she’d want to talk to him, when he had her best friends there to talk to. However, listening to them now he didn’t see Granger getting any sensible response for them – seriously, was this what she had to deal with all the time?

“Don’t be so gullible, Harry, he was obviously only looking after his own skin!” Potter looked like he was about to interrupt but Weasley rambled on before he could lose momentum, “And you can hardly blame him for it, I’d do the same thing!”

Draco frowned along with Potter, listening intently. Where was Weasley going with this?

“Ron, I don’t think –,”

“Think about their situation, this weird body swap thing that is happening to them. If one of them die, the person left behind would be stuck like them forever. There would be no hope for a ‘cure’, let alone a normal life. So, I don’t blame Malfoy one bit for saving his own arse, but don’t try to make me think for a second that he cares!”

A heavy silence followed, Draco staring intently at Weasley who didn’t as much as turn to acknowledge him as he continued glaring at Potter. Draco wasn’t sure what to feel; insulted perhaps since Weasley had just verbally pissed all over him, yet he was somewhat impressed that the boy had brains enough to make the deduction he had. Even though he was wrong about Draco’s reasons or rather lack thereof, for saving Granger – where he’d acted without second thought, Weasley’s argument made perfect sense. If one of them died, then there was no way back, and considering they were now among the most wanted wizards in the UK after the Ministry takeover…

Draco’s mouth went dry and something ugly twisted within him as he realised the gravity of this new revelation. It was one thing to be stuck like Granger alongside her, but to be all alone in this? As much as he and the Gryffindor girl disliked each other, he considered her presence in this situation with him a reluctant but reassuring comfort. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed her to be there and be her know-it-all self – he didn’t know how to be a girl, dammit!

His mounting panic must have been evident on his face, as Potter had turned towards him while his face was twisted into an unreadable expression, “Malfoy, are you alright?”

Draco carefully tried to school his face back into the aristocratic, neutral mask his father had instilled into him since childhood, though with Granger’s face it felt like a poor imitation of it and felt slightly wrong on her face. Put out by the fact that he couldn’t even conceal his emotions like he used to, Draco grimaced.

“Fine,” he insisted shortly, though the feeling of exhaustion was starting to blossom within him and settle along with the freezing cold the Dementors had left as a parting-gift. Draco hugged himself tighter, only to flinch slightly as the soft tissue from Granger’s chest brush against his arms. He still wasn’t used to them, and how long had they been stuck like this now – Weeks? Months?

“You’re not exactly showing it,” Potter observed, his eyes staring imploringly into Draco’s, who had to look away.

Gritting his teeth, Draco was about to retort with a snide remark about being shocked that Potter could even see anything beyond that massive ego of his, when Weasley burst out, “Harry, is that your wand?”

Draco looked down and realised that he was still clutching the long length of holly that Potter had yet to retrieve from him.

“Harry,” Weasley repeated, sounding a lot more furious than before, “Is that your wand!”

Potter, the idiot, stumbled over his words all flustered and embarrassed, having apparently forgotten it in all the haze just like Draco had, “Yes, I hoped – well, I actually let him borrow it.”

“You what!” Weasley exploded, “Harry, do you realise how dangerous that is!?”

“I’m not an idiot, Ron!” Harry exclaimed angrily, throwing his arms up in exasperation, “But Malfoy’s been with us for weeks now, and has had many chances to betray us. Why the hell would he turn all of a sudden? Besides, what would be the _point_?”

“Maybe he was waiting for the right moment!”

“No, he wasn’t!”

“What are you saying, that you suddenly trust the git now?!”

“It doesn’t matter, Ron! He’s here now, and he saved Hermione! What else do you want me to tell you?”

Draco felt a migraine building as the simple-minded dunderheads kept yelling at each other. Granger was a fucking _saint_ for putting up with them for so long, Draco honestly couldn’t understand how she’d not lost her mind by now… it was actually kind of upsetting listening to them, and Draco felt everything from the shitty day accumulate and build up inside of him, like a pressure threatening to implode. 

“You’re acting like children! Both of you stop it, just stop it!”

The tent became eerily quiet, and Potter and Weasley turned to stare at him incredulously, and Draco realised it had been him who’d cried out like some upset girlfriend. Horrified with himself, he smacked a small hand over his mouth, wanting to cram the words back in, but it was far too late for that as the boys kept looking at him in bewilderment

“You…” Weasley said, sounding faint, “Malfoy…?”

Potter was remained silent, but his emerald eyes were wide and worried. Was it worry for Draco? No, that was ridiculous, why the fuck would Potter care if Draco was probably losing his mind or slowly turning more and more into Granger. Oh yeah, because he was probably concerned about her, not Draco. 

Feeling scared and irritable, Draco wanted to make a nasty remark as they stood there gaping at him, but he was honestly too terrified of what might come out of his mouth if he opened it. Was this part of the curse? Had this happened to Granger? He remembered just that morning when Granger had taken him to that shop in London, and she had stared worrying because he just kind of knew how to operate that weird muggle machine despite never having seen one in his life before… maybe she’d realised something was wrong with them then. When Draco thought about it, it weirded him out quite a bit even though he hadn’t considered it much at the time. What _was_ this?

The seconds seemed to drag on and on while no one moved, until eventually Potter stepped towards Draco who blanched, though if the other boy noticed he hid it well.

“Draco,” he said quietly, though he words still seemed to echo loudly in their small tent, “You need to calm down. It’s alright.” Potter gently touched Draco’s arms, careful as if he was approaching an angry hippogriff. Draco hadn’t realised he was shaking and that the wand he was still gripping in white-knuckled hands were spitting fiery red and blue sparks from it.

Feeling like he was going to choke with all these concerned and imploring eyes on him, he tore himself from Potter’s grip, “I need some air,” he said flatly, showing Potter’s wand forcefully at his chest. When the Boy Who Lived looked like he was about to protest, Draco continued shortly, “I won’t go outside the barriers.”

Not waiting for a reply, Draco pushed open the tent flaps and felt the cool rush of the night-wind on his skin and immediately let himself relax. He hadn’t realised how suffocating and oppressive it had been inside until that moment, and he was relieved to get away from it.

Draco drew a deep shuddering breath as tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill, though he refused to have another breakdown like he’d done before. It was just sad and pathetic, and achieved nothing. Besides, Malfoy’s didn’t cry, they just didn’t. 

He furiously scrubbed at his face, deep-seated shame burning inside of him as he thought of how his father would react if he’d seen Draco in that moment. He’d probably sneer at him, with that disapproving, disappointed look that Father had perfected around the time Draco was 5 and accidentally broke a cup of the priceless china-set in the Manor.

But Father wouldn’t even look his way now that Draco was a muggleborn girl, and Mother wouldn’t even recognise him. At least Father knew, he’d been there when it had happened and done nothing to stop it, but Mother…

Draco quickly shut that train of thought down. He refused to think about it anymore, and was tired of dwelling in self-pity about this. As uncomfortable as he was, he and Granger would make this work – no, they’d find a cure, and then he wouldn’t have to make it work. He’d do anything to be back in his own body and be himself again, even cooperating with the likes of a Mudblood.

An unexpected wave of guilt washed over Draco just as he finished the thought, knowing now that Granger wasn’t any less than him because of blood. He’d been her for weeks on end now, and he as capable as he was – maybe even more so because of her lack of long, gangly limbs –  and her magic felt just as potent. Things he’d been told about muggleborns as a child were starting to sound ridiculous and wrong to him, and Draco couldn’t help but feel ignorant and stupid about all those times he’d walked around Hogwarts sprouting his father’s prejudices. Now it’d be him who’d be at the receiving end of the disgusted sneers and insults, and Draco considered whether this was some kind of twisted retribution for his past indiscretions. 

Sighing to himself tiredly, knowing that all this thinking was doing him no good, Draco debated whether it’d be worth it to go back inside and face the less intelligent two thirds of the Golden Trio who had continued shouting at each other after Draco had left when he heard an audible gasp come from inside the tent, interrupting their fight, and Weasley exclaiming a worried, “Harry!”

Draco froze in his steps, staring at the tent’s entrance. From the sounds of Weasley’s concerned yammering, something must have happened to Potter. An unfamiliar sense of anxiety blossomed in Draco’s chest, urging him to go inside, but he remained standing frozen to his spot, knowing that his presence wasn’t wanted.

Yet Potter was his only ally right now and Draco had to take what he could get at the moment,  even if that meant accepting the help from the obnoxious hero of the Wizarding world.

Grinding his teeth together angrily he stormed inside, to be met by Potter lying on the floor while Weasley was kneeling next to him, a pinched frown on his face.

“What happened?” Draco demanded, his tone sharp and sounding a bit more like himself. He refused to let them hold his Granger-moment over him, so he had to keep up the strong Malfoy façade.

Weasley glared at him, but Potter answered before another fight could break out, “I have visions sometimes,” he gasped, sounding breathless, “Of Voldemort.”

“Harry!” 

Draco winced at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name, but quickly dismissed it in favour of what Potter had actually just told him, “You have… visions?” he asked dubiously, knowing fully well that psychics existed, but never really pegged Potter for one. Then, in a moment of clarity, remembered what happened weeks ago in Grimmauld Place when Potter and Weasley had first arrived at the house. Something similar had happened to Potter then too, but back then Draco hadn’t really paid it much mind as he was too wrapped up in his own head to care about the things going on around him.

“Wait,” said Draco, kneeling down by Potter as well, ignoring how Weasley inched uneasily away from him, “this has happened before.”

It hadn’t been question but Potter was either too exhausted to notice or he didn’t really care as he replied, “Multiple times actually,” he rubbed his face tiredly, “It’s because of Voldemort. Him and I are… connected, I guess.”

 “Harry!” Weasley stuttered again indignantly, his gaze shifting sharply between Draco and Potter before lowering his voice into a stage-whisper, “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be telling him this!”

Potter just waved him off, his hand flopping back and forth bonelessly, “It’s alright, Ron. He won’t tell anyone.”

Before Weasley got a chance to argue, Potter continued, “Sometimes I can see what he’s seeing, as if I _am_ him,” his gaze met Draco’s meaningfully, “Snape tried to teach me Occlumency to block him out, but I was terrible at it. Besides, it meant having that slimy git in my head instead, and I’m not sure if that’s an improvement.”

Draco frowned, wanting to ask about the Occlumency lessons but Weasley interrupted his thoughts, only sounding resigned as if Potter went against him all the time as he said, “So what did you see?”

It surprised Draco that Weasley asked such a question with him in the room. The Slytherin had just assumed he’d wait for a moment when he and Potter could discuss this behind his back and in secret, but maybe the events of the day was wearing down on all of them and they were all just too exhausted to give a shit.

Potter recounted what he’d seen in his vision even though he obviously struggled with some details, but Draco wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not. He tells them about the Dark Lord seeking out the wand maker Gregorovitch and interrogating him about something the Dark Lord wanted. The wand maker said that it was stolen from him a long time ago, but the Dark Lord, not believing him, reads his mind to find a memory of a young, laughing, blonde man escaping through the window of Gregorovitch’s shop with a stolen wand and leaving a jinxed wand maker behind.

“And then he killed him,” Potter finished monotonously, not looking at either Draco or Weasley.

“So, what is it that he wanted from Gregorovitch? A new wand?” asked Weasley, scratching his stubble.

Potter shrugged, “I don’t know… it’s weird, isn’t it?”

Weasley glanced over at Malfoy hesitatingly before returning his gaze back to Potter, “You don’t reckon… he was trying to create another one, do you?”

Another one of what? Draco scowled, not sure if he was more frustrated that they were keeping him in the dark, or their lack of subtlety about it. Was this what they were all so worked up about, something the Dark Lord had created? It must have been something they discussed on the regular in the kitchen back at Grimmauld Place when he wasn’t there, because they were always speaking in hushed voices then and fell silent the rare moments he stepped inside. He’d eavesdropped on them enough of times, yet he wasn’t sure what Weasley was alluding to now.

However, Potter shook his head, dismissing whatever Weasley had just said, “No, Hermione said that it’d be too dangerous.”

He seemed thoughtful for a second, his blazing green eyes circled with dark bags shifting to Draco, narrowing, “Say, Malfoy,” he started, the familiar suspicion that Draco hadn’t heard in a while back in his voice, “Did Voldemort ever mention anything about searching for something in particular? An artefact maybe?”

Feeling slightly affronted by the sudden distrust, Draco felt himself bristle, “What? No, why the fuck would –,”

“Whoa,” Potter said, raising his hands in a disarming manner, “I’m not accusing you of anything, I’m genuinely just curious!”

Huffing angrily, Draco crossed his arms while muttering to himself, “You certainly don’t sound like it…” Then, feeling too drained to stay angry, he decides to relent a bit and give the knucklehead the benefit of the doubt, “And no, not as far as I’ve heard. I spent summer being locked up in my room like a prisoner, so I’m basically useless for any Death Eater intel you might find valuable.”

Potter nodded understandingly, but Weasley scowled, obviously displeased, “Oh please, you honestly believe that? Locked up in his room like a prisoner? _Please_. At least make your lies believable, Malfoy.”

“I’m telling you the bloody truth, Weasley. Why would I lie?” said Draco, gritting his teeth, “Do you think I was treated like some fucking prince back there, because I wasn’t. They hated me. Why do you think they turned me into _her_ ,” Draco gestured towards Granger who had not moved a muscle despite their constant fighting and shouting, which would have worried Draco if he wasn’t so exasperated with Weasley’s stupidity.

Weasley’s face saddened the moment Draco mentioned Granger, and Draco felt a flicker of something akin to sympathy for the other boy, but he quickly squashed it, refusing to go down that road for the second time that day.

Instead he turned to Potter who was pushing himself up into standing position and looking at them curiously, “So, what was this about moving location?”

The reminder made Potter jump up with a surprising energy that Draco hadn’t expected, “Yes. We should. We can’t trust anyone for sure, especially people skulking about in the forest late at night.”

Weasley seemed dubious however, “Well, whoever they are, they’ve not attacked yet. Would it not be safe to wait until morning?” The way his eyes drifted to Granger made it obvious that he was anxious about moving her when she was hurt.

Draco considered this, and after some deliberation found that he surprisingly agreed with Weasley. It’d be safer to move during day-time, and they could all use some rest, even if it was only for a little while. Draco could kill for some beauty sleep right now. 

“I’m with Weasley on this one,” he heard himself say, and deliberately overlooked the way Weasley was visibly gaping at him. 

Potter seemed deep in thought, before he sighed, “Yeah, alright. We’ll stay here tonight. It’s only a couple of hours until sunrise anyway, and then we can move and get some proper rest. Until then we’ll take turns keeping lookout.”

“I’ll do the first one,” Weasley said immediately, “I don’t trust Malfoy to do it, and you both look dead on your feet anyway.”

Before anyone could say anything to object, the redhead exited the tent, leaving Potter and Draco to get some much-needed sleep. 

...

Draco was carefully jostled awake by Potter, who gave him a reluctant smile as he told him that they were packing up to leave before heading out of the tent.

Tired, but feeling better than he had done just a few hours earlier, Draco crawled out of bed and went outside, noticing they’d already taken Granger who was still unconscious outside on a makeshift gurney.

The moment Draco was out of the tent, Weasey nodded at him and flicked his wand, the tents smoothly collapsing on itself and shrinking. When it was small enough, Weasley tucked it away into the beaded back Granger always had with her.

“Do you know where we’re headed?” he asked Potter, who nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “Do you want to take Hermione, and Malfoy can side-along with me?”

Draco wanted to argue that he knew perfectly well how to fucking Apparate, but realised he had no clue as to where they were going, and he was pretty sure they weren’t willing to trust that bit of sensitive information with him quite yet.

“Sounds good,” Weasley said, disappearing with a loud crack as his hand touched Granger’s now pale wrist.

The forest seemed a lot larger and emptier the moment they were gone, leaving Potter alone with Draco, who slid an arm around the Slytherin’s waist. The move startled Draco for a moment, but found that he didn’t really mind it when he’d gotten over his initial surprise.

“Scared, Malfoy?” Potter asked, his mouth tilted up at the corner of his mouth.

Draco snorted, “You wish.”

Potter laughed pleasantly, but noticing that the other boy wasn’t making any move to leave this stupid forest, Draco elbowed him impatiently, “I’m ready when you are.”

“Right,” 

They apparated to a forest that looked identical to the one they’d just been in, the only indication they had actually travelled from one place to another being Draco’s protesting stomach, and Weasley setting up the tent again while the still body of Granger was lying a few feet away.

Draco twisted out of Potter’s grip the moment they were fully landed and walked over to check on his own body. Granger’s breathing came out in long, even puffs, the slight chill of the early autumn morning colouring her cheeks as well as her breath.

He shivered as the cold air creeped onto his skin. They were probably further up north judging by how the temperature had dropped from where they’d previously been. The cold would do nothing good for his unconscious body which was currently fighting a potential infection already.

“Weasley, did Granger keep any coats or blankets in that bag of hers?”

Weasley only grunted in reply, throwing the beaded, purple bag to Draco irritably.

Not feeling like thanking such rude, uncouth behaviour, Draco just stuck his hand into the bag, only to find his whole arm being swallowed by it.

“What the –,” he said, snapping his arm back in surprise. What kind of extension charm had Granger used on this? It was massive on the inside, you could probably live in it! Draco couldn’t help but be impressed with Granger and her spellwork, as simple extension charms alone was pretty tricky as they messed with space and mass, not to mention charms by this scale. He’d have to ask her about it once she returned from the land of the comatose.

Even with the knowledge of the vastness of the bag, he still found himself slightly disturbed by the amount of items inside it, and it took him a decent while to dig out some coats for Potter, Weasley and himself, and a blanket for Granger, who was probably going to be pissed that he’d messed with her filing system in there.

By the time he’d found everything he needed, Potter and Weasley had succeeded in setting up the tent, so he went over to them once he’d placed the thick, woollen blanket he’d found over Granger’s still body.

“Here,” Draco grunted, throwing the coats at the two boys who were standing around shivering like idiots, “Granger packed these for you.”

The two Gryffindor’s muttered their thanks as Draco pulled on one of the coats he’d found inside the bag. It was a men’s coat, too long both on the sleeves and body, reaching down to his thighs, but he preferred it to the smaller, feminine one that Granger probably had intended to wear before all of this happened. Buttoning up his jacket, he felt slightly ridiculous as the coat swallowed him up, but he refused to change into the women’s coat, needing to feel more like himself.

Meanwhile, Potter and Weasley had levitated Granger inside the tent, but only Potter emerged to meet Draco outside, “Ron’s getting some rest. He’s pretty tired after keeping watch all night while we slept. You’re alright with that, yeah?”

“Whatever,” said Draco, shrugging in response, not really caring what the ginger boy was up to as long as it had nothing to do with him. 

Potter pressed his lips together displeased, but didn’t say anything else about the matter. Instead, he said, “Want to help me to collect some wood for the fire?”

Draco stared at him horrified, “Are you asking me to do _manual labour_? Do I look like a House Elf? What do you want me to do next, iron my hands?”

Potter guffawed, earning him a glare from Draco who really didn’t understand what was so funny, “What?” he snapped impatiently.

“It’s just that…” Potter started, but got interrupted by his own incessant laughing, “It’s just, Hermione would be so angry with you! She would never say such a thing, and you just… oh my God!”

Potter was roaring with laughter now, and Draco felt himself chuckling slightly, the other boy’s laughter infectious, “I suppose it’s kind of funny.”

“Kind of? Have you any idea how much she nagged me and Ron about the whole SPEW thing over the years? It’s hilarious!”

Without Draco noticing at first, Potter had managed to lead them both down a narrow path away from the tent – sneaky bastard, he was intentionally distracting Draco to make him help him to collect wood… but strangely enough, Draco found that he didn’t really mind as they walked down the path side by side, Potter cackling loudly as Draco performed the best Hermione Granger impressions he’d ever done before. 

It was almost like they were actual friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Finally getting somewhat started on that slow-build I wanted to start 5 chapters ago, but didn't feel natural haha. 
> 
> Also, there will be a slight delay in getting the future chapters up, as I'm currently swamped with uni-work and am spending 10-12 hours a-day in the library. I'm really enjoying writing this though, so it's a nice break when I get the chance :) 
> 
> Kudos and feedback are always appreciated! <3 B-)


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